I could have shied away from the glassy worm
attaining nirvana at the bottom of this drink.
But no, it was hard to resist
especially when the night needed fire
and dancing girls to swing the music bending
in that savage twist and turn hips pulsating
lips pouting and hips thrusting
in that primal passion for evening song.

Ten down and arabian mexican twilights
defying the tranquility of thinking
the sunset stirred the fires and the embers
glowed red with swollen passion.

I joined in the circle of wiggling
sinner pelvic girdles, raw and beautiful
uncaring of the language that radiates
with music and 80 per cent proof
of dynamite, once past the vocals.

The morning found us wrapped
against the waves constant fingers
lapping at our senses
as we woke to the sunshine of naked bodies
fumbling for protection against the bright
lights of excess libido. We wrote new memories
and mammaries that summer holiday.

Author Notes

Holiday of excess?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 15 days ago

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