The Orator to the Dancer

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
That slinky curve of a form;
I am undone, though man I was born
The eyes speak, the feet speak
But the hips move in time
I did not yet say sublime
The rhythm of the boards' creak
Under footfall called a dance
Or simply a walk or a stance
The rising back; the hair sleek
But for a moment she grants
A smile quick as a peek
And in hand - a romance.

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