Dancing in the Heat

Step out of the bar
at 5 in the morning
when she closes her
heavy thighs for the night.
You light a cigarette,
the match winks at the lamppost-
puff,
blow,
puff,
blow.
The men that always
seem to linger a bit too long
and stare a bit too heavy
talking loudly about your ass
as you stand there
and look at your shoes.

Pretending to not notice,
sneaker to snow,
sneaker to snow,
take the flask out of your
left breast pocket,
heave the liquor
toward your lips,
honey down your throat,
straight to hips,
and a rush of pleasure.

Morning cums forever,
spilling color across
the sky,
leaving stains on the moon
as she sets and
surrenders with heavy breathing.

The Soul grieving
its losses of virginity,
a child cries on
the corner of Madison
and a war zone,
torrents of timber
and concepts of masculinity
leak out of skyscrapers
at dawn,
jacked on coffee,
whack off in the shower
as she rises.

Earthquake dreams
and ecstasy,
drowning euphoria,
sucking dick
in the dark
on a dirty floor,
apartment complexes and
consensual lust
turns to tears and coughing up blood,
in the back seat of your car,
hounds of hell and love turned up on the radio.

The eye of the storm smirks
but says nothing,
the mourners gather
for yet another
funeral march for the goat
in heals and heat,
lipstick and circus,
menage-a-trois,
in the middle of the day,
with handcuffs,
and the moans heard
through the tile and asbestos,
sirens and rocks,
denial of instinct and intuition,
sex and coffee
that you refuse to drink
even when offered
with eggs and bacon.

Slow it down,
vibrate through pleasure,
the tiger takes a bite
of your neck
and then invites you
to the shadows' masquerade,
all dripping
in water and moonlight.