Tango (2)
The tulips were
blood, the
black pistols quivered.
Later I thought how
thighs scorch, hips have
their way in exotic languages.
Where there weren't any
words, what he left out
was more intense.
Thru velvet and leather, his
body a tongue. Whoever
heard of a safe tango.
I wanted my body like
verbs. Being strangers
kept the mystery vivid.
How could I not
whip my body in
an apache throw out,
as free as what I never say
except on paper. I
want our legs hooked, a
tango that leaves a
tattoo in my blood
that melts snow
no one can get thru
