Amóre; what is that, he wondered,
before, before her, before the raw
Circean glimpsed across the buzzing
dance crazed rhythmic beating pulsing room.
Erudite, perniciously droll his
father was, he could have been, the old
generation, but not him, no sir;
he was master of the universe.
It took a while to traverse the room,
jam-packed with hot, febrile bodies in
karezza writhings, bodies touching;
love, or lust, on their minds and on his.
"May I?" "May you what?" She taunted;
neither spoke; both stared. His head bowed in
obeisance, bright red shoes his focus.
Power shifted, as both knew it would.
Quarry now the huntress, wolf killer
relishing command, his submission.
Slowly, mischievously; a wink; words;
"take me to your room, this moment, now
undress me; like you have already."
Vainglorious once; now, kin to a
witless fool, he stood, helpless; she stared;
x-rayed him with her cold steel-blue eyes;
"you're blushing," she whispered. The words like
zephyrs softly caressing his face …
DANCE
Daily he watched her
a vigil of desire masked
by the suit, by the business
demeanor of the corporate
nineties, a faint tambourine
tingling the spine, kindling
a rhythm at the edge of
the mind
Daily he watched her
walking at lunch hour, bathed
in the sunlight denied other
women in the tepid, a-sensual
theater of our times
And the congas were playing
a clear primal rhythm, the
tambourine tingling the nerves
in the spine
One day he heard them
a murmur, a rumble
a great thunder growing like a
sonic volcano erupting from
soul to the center of the brain
Cymbals and snare drums,
tablas and tars, derboukas and
tom-toms, and timpani rising,
rich polyrhythms like adrenalin
and cunning somehow arming the
predator, the wild naked dancer
whirling and leaping with
flashing gold earrings and clicking
bone necklace as powerful
percussion destroyed inhibitions,
ignited the heat in the primitive
focus of his hunting and stalking
the Circean woman whom he
boldly pursued on airborne desire
as the fire of the drummers
burned hot in the city like flames
from the sun renegade in
the streets
Thinking back now my dreams are eerily reminiscent
Of every mistake I made in my decent.
Of every joke and priceless muse,
Every smile that she gave me, as her mind I perused.
I hate summer, it never gave me hope or want,
‘Till she came in, giving me memories that still haunt.
The sight was so familiar, an air of innate grace,
The mix of unrefined Circean beauty, painted so perfectly on her face.
Oh, Wanton lust, adoration unbound,
Betraying my every move, I could never gain ground.
It happened, we happened, the unceasing desire was filled,
But with a single mistaken word of betrayal, my fate was sealed.
Still I wish for it, to take back that un-kept promise,
To return to her, what she readily gave to me, a glimpse of solace.
What takes years of readiness, sometimes a lifetime to find,
I had for just one moment and then left it behind.
This reoccurring dream keeps telling me that I shall never find,
Not one moment of hearts peace, no more placation of mind.
Brokenness
Contest Judged: 10/24/2012 12:00:00 AM
~~2nd place~~
Hanging
by a fine thread
on a gossamer welt;
the arachnid spins a web of
intrigue.