In the smoky depths of the Tango club. She stood at the bar drink in hand, “smoking” not only a cigarette but her whole presence. Her dress red, figure hugging and slit to her thigh, black heels


The music powerful, jagged, staccato


Gathering my strength to talk, he came, claimed her, whisked her to the floor


The rampant passion began as legs and feet moved swiftly between parted legs, his hands devouring her form. Breathless she was twirled, conformed to his desire, forever to be his.


That was the night, I lost my wife

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Copyright © This poem is dedicated to anyone who thinks I am writing about them, I am. If something touches you, then take the time to make it yours. These reflections come from moments redeemed from time and space and out of great pleasure. I would be honored if you wish to use my scribbles in whole or part I ask only that you keep the context clear

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