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Waltzing the Muse

Armed in white tie
and cultured southern pearls,
we’re civilly suited.

Stepping into the word waltz,
an etiquette of circle and tease–
stalk in, scurry back.

Manufacturing rhythm in plot turned inside out.
Sexy repartee confined,
to tidy essentials.

I stumble, tripping on decorum,
bread and butter foreplay
consumed with knife and fork.

Corseted in propriety,
confinement’s keys
unlock cheeky fantasy.

Him robed in moonlight,
hard body surfing
a dew soaked meadow.

He’s caught me out,
saw mischief dance naked in my eyes.
Or tasted whine-laced hunger behind a chaste kiss.

Leaning in close,
his whisper hot against my ear,
he digs in.

Ravishes with words.
Parts me with devil’s tongue,
thoughts spread like a meal.

Devour me, sugar.
Consume me.
Eat with your fingers.

~Nara Malone

I started writing this three years ago, had the ending then. I found the first stanza a year ago. The middle has been that hard struggle between writer and word to get past the formality and down to the raw heart of what needs saying. I’m still not sure it’s done.When I saw dVerse Poets are having an anniversary ball tonight, I thought what better dance partner than the muse I’ve been playing hide and seek with these past three years. Drop in to see who the other poets brought or to introduce us to your partner for the evening.

This was also a contribution to the Sunday Whirl.

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