Thursday, 6 December 2012

250. Lures

She sneaks up on me,
creeping at the edge of my vision,
just out of sight,
taunting me,
whispering promises
of another night of pounding,
tender pain in my head--

third time this week--

and she dances a flamenco
or maybe a samba
or something equally flashy,
undeniable,
unforgettable in a way
that floods my senses,
overwhelms my very being
as I'm drawn in,
spun in crisp circles
and dipped in impossible angles.

It's impossible to resist.

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