© Sauce*Box, Winter 1998-99. All rights revert to author. 
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I found myself alone
in some disquiet kingdom,
where pilgrimages fade.
Suddenly, limbic masters I could not flee
unclad my latent shadows.

Slithering, quicksilver dance,
emboldens famished illusions
deflowers a sultry market air
awakens sparks of pulsing heat.

Here, his wanton eyes
sought to propel
the probing bolt
of his serpentine flesh
to the very depths of my viscera.

Perhaps, dear Sultan,
the dancer from the dance?
Did I pass into your desert
just for you to unveil
the scented cup of my pubis?

Come, then, embrocate me
'midst sands more pungent yet
than dreamers ever dreamed;
and saints ever implored.

* * * * *

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