Poetry

111.

In a goofy misquote
I said something like
“Please turn off thy magic beams,”
and my brain jumped to “thigh magic”
so now I imagine a soft undulation of flesh
and a gentle dance beneath the sheets
(or on top of them),
night rhythms leading us both in their spell,
this is one trance I enter willingly,
yet it really is no trance,
I am a master of my movements
(in this sport at least)
and I perform very well.
Alas, to have this duet down pat,
yet no partner with whom to dance.
I realize I am complaining now.
I also realize
this dance need not be a mere duet,
but something more expansive, more inclusive,
many partners all moving in their own times,
it is a wonderful vision
and I am glad to see it.
Only in my mind’s eye, however;
I fight for those who enjoy the many-limbed throng,
a legion of lust and love,
sensual granfalloon,
but I do not join the throng myself.
When I can find a dance partner I
prefer to stick to the one person,
and nowadays,
I dance alone.
It is not so terrible, though I must admit,
I miss the intricacies
of thigh magic.
One day
or night
or uncategorized time,
I’ll perform those lovely rituals
again and again.

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