Slippers the colour of moonlight slide across the slicked wooden floor.
A skirt the shade of blood fans out with each step.
One twirl after the next- a slim back arching as toes leave the floor for a second.
Then they touch back down with the grace of an angel.
Hair glistening gold- no, bronze -flutters in waves to a small waist,
And illuminates the owner in a halo of light.
Pale skin stands out, flawless and youthful as it curves and dips with each movement.
Then vanishes past a smooth collarbone and beneath a corset that hugs the slim torso.
Eyes that shimmer with the brown of milk-chocolate focus on the lights above,
And cherry-painted lips part to exhale through two rows of ivory teeth.
A silhouette of beauty, of song, and an angel of delicacy,
Dives forward and arches out once more before landing with the gentleness of a swan,
Arms extended like the pale wings of the bird itself.
A chest heaves with exhaustion, but dewy skin glows with pride.
Applause erupts from the once-awestruck audience.
Those slippers turn and tuck down on one knee- a formal bow is in order.
And the angel- the dancer -rises to exit the stage without a sound.
And silence falls again as the music fades to nothing.