She sways between the shadows, she's a culprit in the wind. Her eyes are casting sideways, shaking virtue from the sin. Her smile is a hot glimpse star that's spinning into space. She's winding her own circles,
she is courting her own grace. Her foot dips in the river. Shiver, skin that's wet to touch. She laughs until the clouds disperse, she's dripping with too much. Her hair's a wild, waving whim, her shoulders far too wide. She's lost the will to shut it down, forgotten how to hide. She's whispering in Babylon, her language freed of form. The men that pass before her often stop and swear and squirm. There's something in her spirit, doesn't know its place or size. She's never met a gaze that dared to meet her in the eyes. The full moon is her symphony, the sweet night air her song. Her life is lived in seconds, but her seconds are lived long.
(Mood scribbles from a full moon session with full-spirited women).