Milonga

Argentine tango is a seductive tool

Transfiguring desire into sequential steps

Cuadrado pattern repeated

Until performed without thought

Akin to passion’s path

Lovers traverse on sultry nights

Chest and heads together;

Abrazo cerrado embrace

Variation is the spice

Making the dance unique

Drawing gauchos can be done

By nimble feet or exploring tongues

Perhaps both, if the vibes are right

Music and motion coalesce

Into fluid flow and staccato pauses

Coiled tension building

Wait for the cabeceo; the look

A stranger across the room

Caminata invitation extended

By a small man in a pink shirt

My mirada assent given

Though he held no special place

In fantasy’s cache

Women at my table

Spanning ages twenty to eighty

All gave me a pointed look

While he led me to the floor

No stunning feature indicated his poise

Yet a fire he lit

With the first few steps

Giro and molinete energy sizzled

Singeing my breath

Pinned in mordida

Flames flickered up my leg

Trapped between his own

The pinnacle of pleasure found

In the pregnant pause

Parada held two moments too long

Disrupting prediction’s power

Over precision steps

When the dance was over

I sat down, flustered

My sisters laughed at my expression

Thoroughly sexed

While standing (in public!)

Was not my expectation

Tutored by a man

Whose name I do not know

Twenty years later

His lesson remains sharp

Piercing memory with its honed edge

Suspense bridles time

In the most pleasurable way