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
