as you exited
onto the stage, dressed
in your best Italian
garb, your slender body
expressing traditional mating rituals
from centuries before
your time.
I watched without
being able to touch you.
I watched your beauty, the way
your chesnutt hair pinned
over your head didn't move
as your arms curled and your fingers
squeezed the air, the way your breasts lifted
and settled
as your feet fluttered and shuffled
to the music.
I watched and I waited
and I clapped. I wanted to catch you
like a butterfly.
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