CANNIBAL RITES

Slow dancing, we spin together
contracting orbits brushing alternately
hard/soft Protean proportions, moistening,
then easing back dripping dreams
waxed temporarily across
hungry denim-clad hides.

Taped music rakes sweat into the air.
Monomania prods us into the beat.
Flesh, not yet to flesh,
touches only the synthetic things designed
to satisfy -- 'tho sometimes finding the
synonym for Need gliding too dangerously near.

Prophylactically, our hearts are gloved
in pre-scripted mechanical banter.
Gingerly, we side-step too familiar caresses.
Warily, we move in closer,
devouring each other without a tooth-mark,
slow dancing to cannibal rites.
 
 

~ Bud Evans, (c) 2000 ~