This poem is meant to have a Latin theme/feel to it; the Bolera is a type of Latin dance.
The hills echo with
the melodies of the castanets,
and dawn’s hues of
vibrant crimson and bold azure
paint the world in pastels
as if it stood a canvas.
And they glide across the dance floor,
like a pair of
ruby-throated hummingbirds
soaring through the promenade,
her dress a vivacious copper,
his lithe arms holding her tight,
in steady rhythm with the beat.
Consumed by the harmony,
the universe closing in
around them, they
cannot stop,
cannot stop.
And when the bolero hushes
they freeze,
blood pulsing; limbs aching; heart leaping.
Gender:
Points: 2664
Reviews: 113