Awakening the beast
The flower in our path
Electric magenta in the bright bright sun
The green so lush all around
And dappled shadows on the ground.
I saw you move to touch the bud
A darting tip of tongue between your parted lips.
That seemed to wake a horned beast beside us.
The shades of red and pink are not what stir the bull,
It is the movement of the cape.
Or is it your rose lips that part
And leave a little ‘o’ right where a straw would fit?
Is it the breasts whose nipples I imagine
Pressing darker fuchsia through the cotton?
Perhaps it’s your hands
Just big enough to gently hold
The ballocks of the bull
Who snorts and paws the ground
And lowers his head to charge?
Is it our mutual dance and tease
With lips and tongues
And vivid conversation?
And who is the matador on their toes
And who is the maddened bull
That rages at the red?