Four Feet Turn in a Smooth Pattern...

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Four feet turn in a smooth pattern upon the cold, oak floor, his hand grazing her back in seduction./In one twist he pulls her close, his fingers whispering to a beat of deception./One glance and chocolate hold the ocean, flickering into mischief./Coy minds play gracefully with unexpected ethos, asking questions learned in rhetoric./Step, turn, ball change; slide across emotions dyed with amethyst./

They banter back and forth because sarcasm lends itself to rooms outside of rhetoric;/And when conversation turns grave the relearn quickly the steps taught for seduction./Pity, pity, all too painfully are webs woven for disaster when spelled with deception./Promise me, promise me, always will we cloak ourselves in amethyst./Step, turn, ball change;secrets are forever kept in mischeif./

Under a slate sky, carried by forsty wind she jumps, hair swirling about with mischief/As he gazes on; and her voice, ameteur and untrained, pulls him in with her clothes of amethyst./Silence is soothing to the fettered minds: steeped in selver grains of thick seduction,/Strolling upon shattered crystal, they discuss calmy the proofs of truth in deception./Step, turn, ball change; he must hold her with cool intellect discovered through abrasive rhetoric./

In white methods of swift transportation, he practices vigorously the method of intricate seduction./Leaning close, two pairs of eyes alight with rubies of mischief:/In intimate communication are the sweeping feelings of his hope, pooled with amethyst./She plays a game of touch and go that continously weaves him in the talents of her rhetoric./Step, turn, ball change; she catches him in apologetic arms laced unwilling with deception./

He caresses the ivor keys as she glances at him, her eyelids covered in amethyst;/With a flick of emerald she pulls him into a winding play of mischief./And always on the edge of her spontaneously calculated rhetoric,/Laughter ensues as improves melodies to ensnare their senses with seduction./Step, turn, ball change; he will clutch her close, holding them together with deception./

Voices call for him; they stand, together faced with the choice of shirking and mischief,/They choose to walk forward bravely, leaving behind the fetters construed of deception./Close your eyes young ones; you will have too many dark stages for suggestive rhetoric./Brush your lips in the mist entrenched pot of amethyst:/Step, turn, ball change; close is the receiving honor of the keys to emotional seduction.





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