
The allure of her
is a purr and a tickle
my lines are longer
more graceful than hers
speaking bodies now,
not words
the enchanted dance
on rough floors
atop tables
in vain flamenco
my how she’s skilled
the art of castanet
hips like pistons
thrust like bayonets
in smoky rooms
silken powdered hands
draw tatted curtains
free from clinging
bodies static
electric
small sparks of blue
light in the dark
under covers
purr and allure
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
