Syb.a.rite

There are no fantasies of love, Only realities of me belly dancing, in my little kitchen. My body moving only for me, my hips know the hurt of my heart And I lose myself once again, The sun shines through my rose-colored drapes Turning my home into a Harem of love poetry and perfumes. I smoke a cigarette as I make the breakfast, And the whole world serenades me And love is nobody but myself. My hands in jewelry on my shape And I keep on dancing my hair getting longer my eyes getting greener. I eat my dessert in a beautiful dress on the balcony, And my solitude is pink sweeter than any gesture of Love. And they worry about my loneliness But if they saw me now They would fall in love with a woman that is utterly made out of soul and sensuality only for herself; Understanding that love is made of the solitude within the self.