In the cold winter
when all is covered in white
the heart beats slower,
the voice speaks lower,
the body becomes a slug.
The soul, like a drug,
surges under skin,
calling out to any ear
hearing its request:
“Would anyone like to dance?
I’ve got this rhythm in me
just waiting to burst—
to jump right out of me;
…crash right into you.”
..
Her soul is eager;
always wearing dancing shoes;
yearning for Jazz June.
© 2007 asphyxia; Jolene Korrin Long
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