it's not just
the black
ebony nights, that
obsidian glitter,
darkness a matador
you can't resist.
One glare of those
coal eyes and
you're transfixed.
Forget about sleeping.
Who doesn't want
to go to the edge.
It's a taboo dance, a
tattoo of onyx and
midnight. Tangueros'
hips like knives.
Let your genie be
coaxed out of the bottle,
twitchy, staccato moves
as the moon clouds
over. This night
won't end, pulsing,
writhing in strobe
lights and fog
as the trance devours
until, in the light,
like Manzanita,
something blooms
from what seemed
so scorched
nothing could
