Green Spanish Eyes - Part 2

Continued from Part 1 Ah Consuela! I’m watching the vertigo veiling her green Spanish eyes, while the drumbeat pounds, droning, the rhythm sounds, moaning,                  of jungles Jamaican entwined in the valleys concealing the vineyards revealing                  the vaults in the caves of her mind. Ah Consuela! I’m watching life’s carnivals call to her green Spanish eyes, and with paused palpitations the tom-tom temptations                  come taunting her tremulous feet with her toe tips a’ tingle while jute boxes jingle                  for jesters that jive on the street. Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she rides ocean tides in her green Spanish eyes, and her silhouette’s travelling on ripples unravelling                  and shaking the shipwrecking shores, as she strides from the light to the black cauldron night                  through the candlelit cabaret doors. Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she dances till dawn flashing green Spanish eyes, with her movements adorning a trickle of morning                  as sipped by the mouth of the moon, while her tresses twirl, shaming the filaments flaming                  that flow from the sun’s oval spoon. Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she masks for a moment her green Spanish eyes. Then the magpie that sings ceases preening her wings                  and descends as a lean bird of prey – as she flutters her ’lashes and laughs in broad splashes,                  his narrowing eyes start to stray. Ah Consuela! I’m watching fey carousels spin in her green Spanish eyes, and the porcelain ponies and leprechaun cronies                  race, reaching for gold and such things, even being reminded that only the blinded                  are fooled by the brass in the rings. Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she shepherds the shadows with green Spanish eyes, but as evening sinks, ebbing, the skyline climbs, webbing,                  and weaves through the temples of stone, while the nightingales sing of a kiss on the wing                  in the depths of the dunes all alone. Ah Consuela! I’m watching the music and magic in green Spanish eyes, as she dances enchanted, while firmly implanted                  in tugs of his turbulent arms, till he cuts through the strings, tames the magpie that sings,                  and seduces once more with his charms. Ah Consuela! I’m watching, the citadel steams in her green Spanish eyes, but behind the dark curtain the savants seem certain                  that nothing and no one exists, and though vapours look vacant, the vagabond vagrants                  remain within mythical mists. Continued in part 3