Between the gaps of the palm fronds,
I took your measure.
Estimated the hands-length
from shoulder-to-shoulder,
lingered over the knot of muscle,
trailed your spine with a phantom fingernail,
and hungrily traced your lips with my tongue.
I took your measure,

liking what I saw.

Behind the screen of blue smoke,
by the flicker of potted torches,
I listened as you spoke,
inserting an accent
because I wanted you to have one;
you should have one.
The depth in your eyes,
so very dark,
calls to my soul in island patois
and drums pound rhythms
to match my heady exhalations.

Beyond the shadows of black tie dancers,
I gauged your motions.
Every languid movement
lionesque—a promise
of sleep-inducing climax.
You never stumbled,
never faltered,
never once
hesitated
and I heard the roar
you would bring
to the dark
after the last notes had played.

Liking what I saw,
I walked away, leaving you nameless ...
until now.



© 2004