Tip toed in spin stopping in breath
Hand hold's the mask, floor stands in still
I promptly recall your scent from a time
A market from years, a long time ago.

That day you were masked as you are here right now
Your voice that I heard, hair brown in flow
Upward in thrust each questioning eyes
Hand pushed aside gives a what, kind of stare.

Her dress light in hem fondles the air
Eyes dance about with the odd glance of dare
He takes on lead right from under her feet
Hold's to his time, not loosing a beat.

Hall's filled with masks, masking away
Cape's sweep the floor, drama sin play
Hand on the small, the small of her back
Together they come clothed skin to skin

Masquerade's started

Shall we.......begin!


~Bentlee~