Wanton Grace
	-------------

	Helen danced her shoes to shreds,
	white leather with a crimson stain.
	Soft roses spread across her face
	as Helen flew above our heads.
	Her flight was bought with wanton grace;
	her grace was bought with practiced pain. 
	
	Helen spun a minuet.
	Her movements made the men forget
	their wives and children left at home.
	Their glittered irises would roam
	on Helen's spinning legs and arms,
	on Helen's malleable charms.

	Helen fell upon the floor,
	her heat left drizzled on her brow.
	Her patrons left her wooden door
	ajar after her flight was spent
	by dazzled feet.  Her light was now
	a shade, her head, an empty tent.