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Dance MAG
Dance.
I told you to dance.
Yet you remain rigid,
your thin, gawky arms grazing the velvet of
your short, ebony-colored dress.
The room swirls about you,
laughing and shrieking with excitement.
Bare arms and long neckties,
abandoned spiked pumps, curly pinned-up tresses.
You notice none of this as
music shouts in your face,
and you refuse to be engulfed
in its invisible voluminous body.
All the other girls dance,
yet you refuse.
Dance.
I told you to dance.
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