The Naked Dance Poem by Michael O'Sullivan

Perhaps nature is itself the paradox:
All I know is that while you danced
Naked in the snow, and threw your clothes
On branches aching with the touch,
I felt the tumult of an icy lust
Perfected by the very snow that fell.
Nothing is usually darker than grey flesh
Exposed to the incomparable snow;
Yet, when the morning moon had failed
And eerie light exuded from the flakes
You blended with that light
Until one tender sound alone identified
A dance which gathers colour to itself.

You moved until the snow became a dance
Your flesh the clothes it tossed idly away.