A wrought iron balcony,
overgrown with jasmine
frames the summer evening,
pulls magic from doorways
and sends it spinning into the wanton dark
with a clatter of glass beads
and raw red saxophone.
Voodoo heat bleeds out low and blue,
bubbles under door sills
and over window ledges
to set the city humming.
The jazz blast of feet on cobblestones -
a parade of tourists,
washed in summer and silk
shake graveyard dust from their shoes
and disappear into the long, languid dark
among the palm readers and card tricksters
crouched in the curl of a summer dream.
The warm slit of night beckons me,
welcomes me with open arms
and leads me to where you ponder enchantment -
your moon slashed eyes half closed on the world,
taking in its secrets between sips
of rum laced coffee and heavy cream.
Your cheeks spangled like carnival glass
in every hue of my desire,
sweat beaded up like tiny pearls on toffee skin.
Leaning in, I taste taboos from your tongue
that sear my mouth with the pent up heat
of your body unfolding over mine.
and the night, startled by my impudent touch,
runs down the sky in satin ribbons.