Night of Love In Andalusia
I lounge lazily on my deck chair
up high in the spacious loggia
loafing the time away, patient, waiting.....
The ocean ebbs into the small bay
as the sun sets far away over the horizon.
From below electric lights flash on
one by one and guitars are strummed.
The smell of paella wafts up
towards my rumbling stomach,
but I sit on, unmoved, immobile, waiting.
The summer heat is scarcely relieved
by the faint ocean breeze. Salty sweat
runs down my unshaven face,
a welcome taste as my tongue licks
the sides of my parched lips.
The murmur of people reaches me.
She has arrived and the guitars sing.
So does my heart as I behold my wife.
Slowly she pirouettes on her dainty toes,
her skirt resembling a veronica,
like a cape that baits the bull
in a Spanish bloody arena.
I cannot see her red, red lips
that taste like lavender in height of summer,
I can just barely make out her silhouette,
her sexual curves, her lithe footing,
her inviting mien, her head held high,
a proud senora dancing just for love.
Soon the dance will end and I...
why I just wait till she'll come to me,
in the dark cover of the night.
with a tequila and a night of love.
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