SilverMoon

Yaritza,

Lead me to the dancers
at the jamboree
whose bodies twist
and tremble.

Sizzling sweat, holy,
hot droplets on shoulders
burying the slap of the day,

Where jump-about musicians
coil, and music curls smoke
from wailing brass.

Brazilian songs a-thumping
from Senorita Monte's ruby heart
Eu Te Amo! Eu Te Amo!

Yaritza,
Cup me in your thick dark arms
and tender my ear with your language,
lush as a lazy day.

And I’ll hand you the fury-red flower
out from behind my auburn locks,
tied with slivers of "gold, and orange ribbons."

Strip them from me slowly
and finger my hair
as if it were the finest silk
imported all the way from China.

Yaritza,
Take me to your dense forests,
the Matto Grosso,
to your tropical flowers
where my white skin
turns shades before your eyes.

And you whisper
Eu Te Amo, Eu Te Amo
beneath our bed net.

Feed me the fruits from your land
and shiver, just shiver
while the juices run down my neck.

We sleep, almond scented,
Brazilian breeze like a veil
fluttering on our backs,
our bodies boiled and spent.

Yaritza,
Do you smell the morning cakes?
And it's to the festival today?!

Give me your strong hand.
And I do, I do feel it on my shoulder.

I'm deeper in the bed,
a pressed flower.

I wake
and study
my husband's back,
turned away from me.

Yaritza ...