The Vision of Salome

In velvet chair, a vision draped in white, Where sapphire folds caress her sculpted form, No painted mask, but eyes that hold the light, Of flickering dreams, defying shadows' norm.

The dancer's grace, in stillness now contained, Yet fingers itch, like silk that strains to fly, To spin around, where Salome's veil unchained, Unleashed a storm beneath the sunlit sky.

The silver screen, a mirror to her soul, Reflects the whispers of a siren's call, Where hips ignite, and secrets softly roll, A whispered echo on a distant wall.

But stillness too, holds secrets yet untold, A velvet silence where emotions sleep, A heart untamed, within a mold of gold, Where shadows dance, and hidden passions creep.

So let the canvas hold her timeless flame, A silent Salome, beauty undressed, For Maud Allen's art, beyond the whispered frame, Burns on, a fire in every painted breast.