Romani Girl 1841
Skirts swirl around her like colors in a kaleidoscope
Her feet move like they always knew the steps
The disks on her ankles tink and chime against each other
The music of her moves is more intoxicating than the colors in her skirt
But her beauty, Oh! That is so much more
With skin like satin clover honey
Hair as rich as cured mahogany, with eyes dark as any abyss
All it takes is one lash filtered look to cut him to the quick
Lips ripe and pink whispering possibilities
Hot breath on his ear is his undoing
Arms long reaching into to soft palms that flex to slender fingers
Each light touch gives him just enough hope
She may leave this band, this warm beautiful caravan of family
And be a gadjo’s wife
He falls asleep each night with colors swirling
Music enchanting, and hope ever present
that her invigorating love will come to him.
|