Thanks for all your comments, emails and support. I really appreciate it.
Walking up the shadowed hill
With a bucket of live lobster balanced between us
We stopped to listen. The music
Drifting thru the iron bars of a dirt floor café
To the flame.
The horn player leaning back in his
repose, Spied us with a single eye
and our contest.
We slipped in the doorway and
slowly settled the tin bucket
‘til it found the floor;
(clacking sounds of claws clambering
ignored us with intention to escape.)
Your fingers, still wet with the sea
Wound a nest in my hair.
You held me in sway
And bit my bare pink shoulder
Your damp hair, your bare feet, your white teeth
still linger in my present senses.
It wasn’t really dancing what we did
Intoxicated by Scent and Sound.
Damn that smiling waitress
And offered us her room.