My fingers caress smooth satin nickel
As the ice in the vodka glass tinkles
Like wind chimes singing in a seashore breeze.
The door opens to reveal candlelight
Flooding walls colored in the memory of blue
With sunflower hints cast from the fire.
On bare feet I reach the occasional
On the far side of the rough iron bed
To find her instruments, tools and playthings.
Soon the room fills with fuck-driving music,
Followed by impatient smoke, scarred tension
And the low-level buzz of a heartbeat.
Now a flick—a fade—a shake of her hair—
Eyes flashing—skin teasing—the dance begins.