She hears the call of the primordial drumbeat,
Primeval urges demand the gyration of her hips.
She sways in tempo building her euphoric heat,
As her face shows her trance with the parting of her lips.
The djembe and conga take her mind over,
The drumming enters her psyche, embraces her senses,
She raises her arms to the throb of frenzied meter.
She’s lost in her body, lowered her defenses.
This is her dance, her time of pure elation
When she becomes lost in this ancient rhythm
That spins ‘round her in mounting syncopation.
The ecstatic dance bespeaks her religion.
~CWylde © 2015