Double antithesis

The stroke of her hand's blessing,
her free ways of just dancing.
His eyes closed and mouth open in the staying,
for the tips of the boots know his swaying.
Flames of hair spin in their burning
just like curls are not afraid of falling.
Without monarch, the manners of a king,
for it is to the lady you should be bowing.
The world isn't yet prepared for such a thing
in all its godly human feeling
as the crossing of storms when they sing
to break that old glass ceiling
that hovers over soft purring.

09/06/2019