Velvet Rapture - An Ode to Old Burlesque (Patreon)

In a room where midnight violets bloom,

She kneels beneath the moonlit plume,

A gloved enchantress trimmed in lace,

With old-world glam upon her face.

A bustle, born of Val’s own hand,

Trails like a whisper through the land.

Each pleat a note from burlesque past,

A tribute stitched to make it last.

She moves in Dita’s satin weave,

Where lingerie and dreams believe.

With jewelled wrists and violet grace,

She brings the stage to this small space.

Her bow, a whisper of silken spell,

Knows secrets she’ll never tell.

She dances where the shadows sigh,

With lips like dusk and lavender sky.

The curtains part, a silent gasp,

She threads desire through every clasp.

Not made to chase, but to be adored,

A dream in lace, velvet restored.

So linger here, in satin breath,

A heartbeat shy of beauty’s death.

She is the dream the stars foretell,

A story spun in amethyst swell.