A Language of Her Own.

She twirls in a Circle
Soundlessly
Her own Melody
In her Head.
Her Hips Sway,
Head Slowly Tilting,
Back and Forth.
Lips forming words,
Unknown to others,
A Language of her Own.
Her eyes remain unseeing,
Yet she is Content.
Sight matters Not.

The people Stand And
Admire Her,
The Beauty,
The Elegance,
Of her Dance.
How she seems So
Comfortable with Everyone
Staring.

Does She know?
Does She care?
No one Knows.
No one Cares.

So long as I Can
Watch her here
Everyday.
Watching her Dance.
Such Beauty
Just to be Admired
Not Touched.
No one Can Dance with Her
Learn her Songs
No one can share lif with Her,
For she is Sworn Off.
Not For Him.