The Lost Man of Galicia

you sit amidst the bestiary
wet with sweat and port wine
and what would be our life together
holding your guitar
singing to the fantasy of my dark eyes
looking into yours
danza prima
you cry out
begging my body to
a crescendo
dance before the fire
as near to you
as words can allow
love without touching
take another drink
to make my perfume fade
from the elysian field

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