butterfly wings
blue powder.
Blossoming
from the hips.
Singing
hip-hop shaking
strutting
struggle with closed bud
of a cocoon.
Here to blossom.
A whole life
to unfurl.
Unexpected, that.
It never gets boring.
The unflown flying.
Petals in the wind, pink,
blue dusting to indigo.
This sun, this rain
never felt before.
Be the valley of women dancing.
Be the flowers, and the earth,
and the wind, and the moon.
Tattoo me on your skin.
Ink me in colours of the meadow,
a blossoming bramble
rose
As I dance the opulent
blossoming
of you.
__
a little ditty written at Erica's recent "Blossoming" workshop.
Image of gorgeous dancing women - a stylized version of a photograph at Erica's Dance Our Way Home website.
