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?