A note about a star of the arts

She answers the phone call from her automobile. Intertwining words with her playful thoughts, painting a picture of colors and tunes as they mingle with the strumming of her heartbeat. She seems to be thinking of possibilities. How would the first touch feel? Will it be the same as dipping her elfin fingers in still water, the ripples unfolding like her arms welcoming the warmth of a summer sun? Or a wisp from an incense, the patterns akin to the strokes of paint kissing a parched canvas.

Within moments of random thoughts that were written on the currents of radio waves, metaphors were exchanged and something happened. Secrets were wrought as though this conversation was between a poet and his poems that yet were a composition of someone else. Somehow they belonged. She is a dancer who knows that her ballad will conjure the rains that caress her moonlit skin as she cups her hands to her face to kiss every drop.

The night outside tells a story of stars shining just for her, the warm ground beneath her toes welcoming her steps. She has decided to embrace change. The minutes roll by like notes from a tune that yearns for a lover that will be hers forever. Her fingers dance with her dark locks as she waits for that perfect moment when she knows that change has borne fruit sweeter than the taste of her own lips. She smiles.