Dance

DANCE Daily he watched her a vigil of desire masked by the suit, by the business demeanor of the corporate nineties, a faint tambourine tingling the spine, kindling a rhythm at the edge of the mind Daily he watched her walking at lunch hour, bathed in the sunlight denied other women in the tepid, a-sensual theater of our times And the congas were playing a clear primal rhythm, the tambourine tingling the nerves in the spine One day he heard them a murmur, a rumble a great thunder growing like a sonic volcano erupting from soul to the center of the brain Cymbals and snare drums, tablas and tars, derboukas and tom-toms, and timpani rising, rich polyrhythms like adrenalin and cunning somehow arming the predator, the wild naked dancer whirling and leaping with flashing gold earrings and clicking bone necklace as powerful percussion destroyed inhibitions, ignited the heat in the primitive focus of his hunting and stalking the Circean woman whom he boldly pursued on airborne desire as the fire of the drummers burned hot in the city like flames from the sun renegade in the streets