Her smile is sweet on rosebud lips,
Her eyelids, smooth, are sealed shut.
In a gypsy dance she tosses her hips,
A flurry of bells through warmth does cut.

She dabs a kiss on her husband's sword,
That strikes the air between musical beats.
Her sunset clothes of velvet cord,
The metallic rhythm of life repeats.

A lustful battle between a swooping blade,
And a romany lass from a land of green.
In the tragic night does dance the maid,
On a vanished twirl her vision will lean.

Her laughing eyes that mock his fight,
Passionate twirls of a gleaming sabre.
Her dangerous eyes that grant delight,
The song that bled from the boldest tabor.

In the circle of his slicing arms,
A dance of love and death does dwell.
To hold his wife with the music's charms,
He leaves the sword with a brief farewell.
thanks, i'm 13
i wrote them
* i mean i wrote IT
oi!!
i swear i am 13 years old