Your Dance 

Yes, I see you watching.
Corner table.
Arm flung across that black-eyed
girl's sullen shoulders.

Your latest.

No matter.
Body awakened by the
music's wail,
my skirt umbrellas,
bare feet stomping
in the smoky room.

I dance for you.
You, who have left me
a thousand times before,
for clumsy girls
who trip when they walk,
think samba a sandwich,
tango, a soft drink.

My hair fans wilder
with each turn.
Do you remember its softness
times it fell across your face?
Do my bare feet remind
you of days we danced
bare on our bed?
Does my neck-arch
return memories of kisses
long into the night?

Your arm drops to the table,
black-eyed girl forgotten.
Eyes meet mine.
And I know...
I have you again.

Pris Campbell

Accepted for publication in Blackmail Press, Winter 2003

Art: Spanish Dancer by Bill Wilmoth
Copyrighted and all rights retained

(Click on his name and look for Wilmoth in the gallery)

Music: Tangamigo

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