The Tango, that slithering hot music beast
With red and black, silky, smooth tentacles,
And a throbbing pulse,
Reaches out to lovers
And wraps around their slender ankles,
As it moves them out to the dance floor.
As the music travels down the spine,
It sinks into the loins like a humid night.
It glues dancers together and won’t let go.
Silky thighs, skin to skin, melted eyes atop,
Nervous, probing fingers at the gates of paradise,
Inches away but yet a thousand miles,
It plants dreams in lovers’ eyes,
Taking them to the Devil’s door,
To the bull fights, to the orgies at Babylon,
To the crimson sunsets and beauty’s chambers.
Yes, the tango did it all.
It came to them as a lonely troubadour.
It climbed inside and serenaded the lovers,
Moved their feet with a mesmerizing pulse,
Heated up their loins with a steady fire,
Smothered their naked thighs with cream,
Dragged them over the coals to their love nest,
Shook their bed and crumpled the sheets,
As it grew from a brook to a ragging river.
As the music increased in intensity,
What began as a spark,
Ended up exploding in the sky.