Hold me close and sway with me,
Look into my eyes and hear my heartbeat.
Feel the rhythm, move across the floor,
Dance me till the morning, till my feet are sore
The first thing one notices about dolly is her eyes, for they are limpid pools emanating warm glowing light that cuts one deep if you stare long enough. Her hair is like the night sky, a dark ominous halo surrounding a Venusian sculpted face that would make many a gorgeous countess jealous. Her complexion is olive brown and reminds one of the chapparals in California where she grew up and her lips, a luscious cherry red begging to be kissed by a young paramour. Her cheeks turned red in the sun like sun kißsed cherry tomatoes and made one wonder whether she was blushing. She accentuated her divine features even more with accoutrements. Some mascara on her eye lashes, kohl in her eyes, rouge on her cheeks and lips and she looked like a prima Donna, a Demi goddess out on the prowl to steal hearts with a mere glance from those angel eyes.
She had the voluptuousness of a Venus de Milo, the fecund abundance of Aphrodite, the joie de vivre of the nine muses and the panache of Josephine. She could recite poetry of Keats and Shelley with equanimity and dance like a nymph to exquisite music in the dance halls of san Francisco.
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