Primavera

I'm not sure if I like 
this Pavlovian response.
Shortly after 3 AM, Santana's
"Primavera" shuffled on to my iPod
and woke me from a dead sleep.
It is your song, the one
I always associate with you
and even though you won't dance
it makes me want to take your hand
and awkwardly swing my hips
wishing for rhythmic grace
to create a poem out of movement
my eyes locked with yours
never losing contact even through
your languid and slow blink.
It makes me want to kiss you deeply
with passion I feel but you don't.
Melancholy rises with each riff
shaking me from my sleep
to discover you're not beside me.
My bed is  cold and I ache, unrequited.
So I rise and convince myself
that the ear buds are uncomfortable,
hit repeat and listen once more.