The Flamenco Dancer and the Bull

The Flamenco Dancer and The Bull The acoustics of your snuffle is an absolution of a descending staccato in an E chord. Behold, my lancing third, an urgency to trick you with my jalapeño-colored capote, to mask the stains of your blood as it oozes, while I thrust these Romani banderillas in your neck. Tease me with impulsive pretence of your Berber-like invincibility, while I magnify your monotonous habits, triggering the sequel with the mutiny of these senses in a most soulful manner. Beware, my gitano-inspired estoque, hidden and within a rhythmic beat cycle in sync with a Moorish chant, while my arms obliquely stretched plunging to your bosom, as I dare to move my hips in a sultry fashion, to anchor it in your Andalusian-unceasing being, Oh! My Iberian-bred tragedy, consummating my tableau with your immortal inexistence.