She braces herself for a bite that she knows will never come.
The large snake curls, slides and coils, writhing, twisting and ready for a strike.
It’s venom gone, it’s mottled green scales layered like silk under a moonbeam sky.
A scantily adorned dancer, she shuffles her balance promenading the exotic means for a fright.
She dares the passers’ by to come closer still, close enough to touch the beast.
No soul does.
The snake’s red eyes glow, ever seeing and alert for the hunt.
The creature’s tongue samples the wind, it’s muscle rippling in a bone breaking twisted clutch.
The dancer is brave, she has no fear,
For the worthiness of the snake draws her fortune ever near.
The crowd gather to gawp in awe at such a sight.
There is a haunting rhythm to this tranceful tune to those who watch agasp.
Just the market draw and all part of the show.
The music softens, Ophiuchus knew this gift when she was young.