This isn't your mother's dance.
The wooden clave
seduces the naive  
into suave arms
of the night.

Quick quick slow
exalts wooden caderas
and untames silky locks.
Wrinkled hands
caress the caras
of clumsy coquetas.

In the name of the dance,
vestidos apretados
replace pants,
which men outgrow,
steeling blue eyes
in rusty miradas.

Mirandla.

Mira la guera,
como se toca,
como se mueve,
comos se salta el vestido suyo.

Mirandlo.

Look at him,
how he touches me,
how he swings me,
how his feet mock me.

Mirandnos

Ella me quiere.

We are JUST dancing.

Ayyy, como me pega.

We're close, but Salsa is intimate.

Oooh mami...

Does he think it's more than a dance?

quick quick slow,
quick quick slow,
quick quick slow,
quicK quiCK quICK qUICK  QUICK...

...silence.
they shake hands,
and thank each other for the dance.

Tangled by reeds
in the trash-ridden bay
of sunny Acapulco,
I brush your hair.

Dried gel
builds under my nails
and satisfies me.

You dive with me
into the ocean of fire
to wash our hands.

My heart beats red;
Leaking, it soaks
your white playera

It hangs high and dry,
but will never wash clean.

I want you like the Colorado clouds
want to pour rain over the Californian desert.
Please, I am thirsty. Quench me.

Let me drink your nectar — it tastes like sunshine.
Loyally I will suckle your pistil,
even after the reason you ignored me did.

Relax — I want you...at ease.
It's OK  — I want you...happy.
Don't worry — I want you...dreaming.

Come to bed with me
Grab my cheeks and squeeze them.
I am a child.
Tell me my eyes are galaxies
you want to swim in.

Your breath tastes like stale beer
but I steal kisses selfishly.
They tickle my ******,
short-circuiting me to a cloud.

I am in your cloud.
I am rain.
Cross the ridge and
let me pour.