Longing on the Dance Floor (and beyond)


The black-light reverie

that broke out over your skin

had nothing to do with the way

your blue eyes glinted devil-black

in this chaotic carousel


The coffee in your mouth

that scorched your tongue into submission

had nothing to do with the path

your hands took over your collarbone

and reigned my vision into subservience


The cigarette that bloomed in your hand

and produced Azaleas instead of acrid smoke

had nothing to do with the regret

of my fingers shaking in my own pockets

as they longed to brush the smokey contour

of you un-submissively glinting lower back