Moon Dance

MOON DANCE

Her voice it sings.

She

of dewy lips,

scented passions fire,

bathed in silver lunar light.

With dread.

For that distant call

stirs ungentle memories.

It enchants

and unresistant

I move

to peel away

sanity’s thin veneer.

Against my cheek

again I feel

the fiery breath.

Nostrils flare to

the familiar scent of her.

Beckoning

she pirouettes.

Inviting to the dance.

Her spirit’s in my hands.

My mouth seeks her

secret opening

and deep I drink.

Her fire courses through

my veins.

She calls to action.

A thirst for lust,

always promised,

seldom fulfilled.

And so again

I pleasure take

in solitary sport,

consorting

with this whore.

Soon gone.

Leaving me dreaming

of her dance

and the soothing fire

of her liquid touch.

Alone

and melancholy.

Craving her only embrace.

Whispering softly her name

Ruby Wine.

All Rights Reserved, Lyle T Lachmuth, Copyright 1987, 2018