The Dancer

Saturday night, strobe lights

A Vegas fight exchange of sweat and stroked egos

Vibrations, bass and treble

Trembling the hardest of men with the sensation of her sway

A freak of nature

Mother nature

The way she aligns pastures with constellations

Like neon reflections on the dance-floor

Moving to wind instruments, whispers

I wither, mesmerized by one particular strand

Swaying as if I saw Shiva praying amongst every other deity

Her hips tell deceptive truths no woman ever uttered to me

Rocking side to side of rhythms unknown

Suddenly—I feel too square to dance

The trance of her twirling torso

Transforming into a quartet of trumpets

Blasting sinful beauty into my eyes

This scene of sinuous curves frame by frame

And mum is not around to tell me to close my eyes

For what is temptation to a boy

On the cusp of adulthood?

When I cusp the waist of the dancer

Sending cancer through my wrists

My fingertips need therapy, rehabilitation

From the impalpable bottle of whiskey in my hand

Curvaceous as the dancer

Elegance is erotic tonight

As she eloquently speaks in my ear

But I can’t hear

I just see her hips, steering vessels into blissful voyages

She’s the carousel taking my remaining innocence

A mere dancer, a Juilliard reject

Erecting me into perverted glee

High velocity of my heartbeat

Not even a wet dream, just a vision…

Awake to pay the gypsy for her services

And go on home…


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