This was an attempt to write a kajira poem in strict Italian sonnet form. Thinks I am more a free verse person
Steps into a circle of bright-lit sand
A silver clad dancer with up- raised hands
Captured doves in cruel iron bands
Bright eyes flashing from her veil of lashes
Shackled foot tapping to cymbal clashes
Shyly she meets the eyes of her Master
He smiles, and her heart beats ever faster
She is the moon that he holds in his hand
Captured in orbit, her course is set
To ever circle his dark planet’s mass
Pulled by his tides and his passions met
She dances her worship at every pass
His brand on her body, her soul in his net
Secured by iron from thought of trespass
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