Tango
I didn't know it was
addictive,
dangerous as morphine,
mysterious, no, electric as
that touch from a stranger you
know could never not be
riveting as death. Anything
pastel couldn't compete.
Save the waltz for the blue
eyed blondes. I want a tango I
might not survive, exotic
as Valentino in a tent
under a desert moon, that
circle a flaming plate.
This dance is a drug like thighs
scorching, a duel of bodies no one
can turn back from. The heroin
dance, musky as Araby or rose skin
where some woman waits
in darkness, the tent flaps
opening like labia
