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• My Spanish Dancer

At the The Tropic of Capricorn

My feet were as fast as a toreador, and you loved to dance
Ask for more - dance the dance until you would pass out for a short while
me exhausted beside you on the grass
“Under this blue Spanish sky….”
The maddening Spanish song
In the Blue Biscayne travelling upto Vilancoulos from Inhambane in the crazed tropical heat.
You peeled your lapis lazuli dress so we could make love on the side of the highway at the Tropic of Capricorn, on Morrungulu turn off.
I laid back on the hood of “The Beautiful Blue” and let you laughing have your way with me.
Parked here on the side of the highway
“I know the words - but they come out wrong”.
In this crazy Spanish Song: La Cancion De Las Noches Perdidas (THE SONG OF LOST NIGHTS).

Aah - T'is The Season of Neptune

. . . a Neptunian spring. I wonder about the relationship of Neptune and Capricorn. Is there any?
Neptune - The Roman God, is the Ruler of Pisces where you are born.
Poseidon - The Greek God, has a more poetic name

I dreamed of you so much. So badly, so desperately have I wanted you in my life all my life, Dona Pescada de la Strella – my Star Fish.

And then one day - Here You Are.
On the beach with me by the sea where you were born - and where you will end.

“Quando Mais Loco, Donna?”

And then your red dress was a red battle flag all the way down to “Our Secret Beach”
Like a bullfighter, taunting the Bull
This capricio on your Barca de Fantasia, as we wind down hot
sandy roads, as hot and paleomorphic as your skin, and out onto a hot sandy beach where you could
have your “Tropic of Cancer” flooded by the equatorial heat that flowed out of me and into you
the “glue that bound us together”.

And finally a siesta on the beach, drowsing while you speak of days and ways and
A wiser “Snake in the Garden” sim sereno es suspenso volvir

“Quando mais loco, Donna?”

You gold – like the sand
You shimmer molten,
like the sand
Liquid and squirming -
like the Sand
I am Master of this Sand
As far as Eye can see
It is only Sand
Just sand. Like the sand in the timer
Running
Out
Before your I’s

I am Master of
Of all that I survey
Flesh in every direction
that I feel
. . .all there is,
Flesh
Flesh is all
And I am Master
Of her
Flesh. she rises out of the sand…and I begin to sing her praise… Are there not enough words to describe her ineffable beauty. Is there not enough blood in my heart to ring the bell of heaven? Enough air in my lungs to rend the stars out of their vault. For at each turn she fixes me with her stare, as steady and piercing. Demanding, beseeching, begging me not to stop my exultation of her fluid dance of Kali in the flames of her own desire.

Oh, My Scheherazade

That you would spend a thousand nights and one night with me –
Sing me your lullaby and tell me the Grand Story of Life as You Know It.
All of my days have been brighter days, a wonder of light and music,
Church bells and jazz guitars. You Fill my heart.
You get my Mojo Workin’
And, Scheherezade?
Your stories never cease to fill me with wonder for living.
The day you stop telling, I will start dying.
Tell me The Story -

NEXT >> Rise My Phoenix

Donna Darkwolf as the Hindu Goddess, Kali