Friday, January 1, 2010

Rumba Man

by Carol Lynn Grellas

Hey there Rumba man─
that dance you’re doing is double
x-rate and I’m ready to move
in four/four time

my skin shiny with sweat-filled
notes; real live erotica. Come
weep with me, we’ll moan through
oblivion, I’ll bend you like a wild

flower, your heart stroked to
suppleness on my soft wet tongue.
Come on rumba man, I’ll lick your face
to a beautiful-clean and when we’re

done your lungs will know the perfumed
scent of us; our legs tangled in this labyrinth
love. This is it your free pass
to stroke my curved body beyond

the moonlight’s cavernous call
a midnight-climax in measured
concert, like a massive wave
on the naked shore with one more

begging prayer from the lone girl
glistening nearby; mouthing
a take-me prayer, standing there
undressed and ready for a harmless

urge of symbiotic motion, the ocean
swelling from genitals lost
at sea, both of us crowned in myrtle,
where the sparrow is ever sacred

to even the coldest Aphrodite.

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