The Gypsy Dance




You should dance
a gypsy dance
tonight
and I should
build the fire
to watch you by,
to sit until scorched
and then dare myself
not to move
until the morning breeze
lifts away my ashes

There is passion
in the wine
tonight,
cradled in the
tear shaped bosom
of its glass,
a potent sorrow
crying out to be consumed
blood
to sweat
to steam
to crawl
inside of you
and melt
within the music,
the swirling, throbbing tempo
coming banging
banging, banging
with no edges,
just the driving
dripping heat
that begs to swallow thirst
and drown in the
parched and arid
chambers of my heart

You should dance
that gypsy dance
and I
should sip of it
and ache the haunted
ache of shadows
as the bow cries
across the string
and every movement
bleeds its passion
until the flame
implodes and all
I know as mine
is gone

You should dance
that gypsy dance
tonight
so that I might awaken
drenched with fever
not knowing
whether this exists
in this world
or the next
or that it matters when
the cold distance
cannot squelch
the embers from your fire
and I know that I
will feel the music again
dripping blood
and that I will sit
smoldering in the heart
of unquenchable love
and that I will
watch you
as you dance
as you dance


I will watch you
as you dance.