“Everyone, please put your hands together for Simone!”

I put a seashell to my ear and it all comes back…

The mood of the room changed as the crowd turned their attention center stage. The music shifted tempo: Slower, sultry, and intimate.

They, both, emerged from the music box.  The ballerina and the beat.  While the melody twinkled and turned, she stepped forward, placing her legs, one by one through the slits in the fabric.  Her left hand curled down, out, and flashed.  Her right hand curled down, out, and slid upward from her waist.  Her index finger caressed outward, framing her face as it traced her jawline.  Her eyes, intensely focused as she read the faces of the audience for their expected responses.

All eyes were locked on her as the drum beats swayed with the movement of her hips; serpentine in the retelling of her movements.  

The guitar strings salted the melody behind her fluid movements embued with purpose as each foot found placement on the first and slid to the second.  She was graceful in flow, perfectly marrying together fabric and feather.  Symmetrical in pattern, they followed behind her movements, rippling and expanding in volume; accentuating and adding punctuation to her statements.  One arm undulated outward from her body.  Her other arm imitated it’s twin before her fingertips feathered out from each hand in winged expression.

Quédate aquí conmigo. Quiero ser tu sueño.  The swift feet of the guitar strings, increased rapidly.

Lifting her gaze upward, she unfolded her arms, as she spun lifting them upward toward the lip as a spinning vase.  The guitar strings vibrated at the edge of a near maddening frenzy.  Stomping with the rhythm in reply, she clapped her hands to the melody.   With pained expression, she felt her way through the rhythm as the fabric rose and fell at her command.

She came to a sharp stop with pointed-toe exclamation, waving her arms over the audience, casting her spell.  They had already succumbed to the influence and power of her feminine, of her strength and grace.  Pliable and ready, they awaited her command.

Quédate aquí conmigo. Quiero ser tu sueño.

In that moment, for him, the lights turned out on everyone else in the room.   No one else existed as he caught her eyes resting on him and returning to him time and time again.  

The artistic craft of the Hypnotic, Exotic, Brown was shown as she turned, flexed, extended, arched, and moved across the stage.  She locked eyes with his and mouthed the words, “Estas listo para mi…?”  

It took several minutes for him to register the clapping of the crowd as they applauded the mastery and artistry of her dance that had come to an end.

…Quédate aquí conmigo. Quiero ser tu sueño.

Seashells in Your Pockets

by malakhai jonezs 
(c) Copyright 2016


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