art of artless | terpischore
— SEVEN —

In an empty, bright room, I'm able with a smile and I sing in delight.
I dance without fright of many peering eyes.
One, two, I follow my own tune.
Relish in the arts of liberty, consciousness absent from the show.
Elegance and aimlessness seemingly one in the same.
I'm effortless in my heart's efforts for content.
I twirl and warble until this mirth is inescapable.
At that moment, I feel beautifully flawed.