Pick Your Poison

Djembe

There's a beast inside, a clawed type of snarl; 
like a madman unleashed to favor:

Hands are the extensions of my honor.

I reach out from old oblivions to spit,
break, and twist the tempo into subjugation.
if only to tear the shreds to pieces



Sensually swinging sins surrounding,
and she begs me to let it all end.
Pushing through the pain,
the pleasure, we've been
granted these few sacred realizations
their chance at becoming. 

No mercy! Unrelenting savagery, raw aptitude, 
and sweating bullets; the dancers circled in pace, fully bequeathed
with the tasseled jewels and swaying hips of the raqs sharqi.
United by heat, transformed by desire, and sentenced to euphoria;
we swooned like wolves in this sweat-thickened parlor by the coast,
drenched in magic, doused in light.