Bailaora (Flamenco Dancer)

A rose in the sun
through the dust,
a guitar of flowing rivers
and rhythmic sex
and the tapping rain
of her castanets.

A dancing desert wind
upon the plain,
upon her proud breast
love´s passion and
the poverty in its death,
sadness and pain.

Her thigh, her dark eyes
awash with moonlight,
her slender spirit arms fly
in suffering and grief,
her vibrant hips upon
heels of crushing feet.

The thrill of her cry
her dress of red dawn sky
whirls and flies over
her waterfall shawls 
of flowing fiery tears and tides.

The coils of her black tar hair
bind the soul of her 
wounded shadow, upon
the walls of ochre and white,
eyes drawn, dagger embers
that sear the heart
and dance a duel with the night.