Crocodile grin

[Annabelle Baptista]

 

Contemplating the blue walls in the tropical sway, where the bar mixes brass nipples and sex on the beach.

We come for the music.

On the floor, couples inhale one another with their eyes, drinking in the moments when their bodies in unison reach another level, their lips moist with saliva. 

I snap in time to the music; enveloping the dance, crocodile shoes in a high walk, heels, four-inch-long incisors scraping the floor’s reverberating four-chambered-heart.

The lights play off our bodies, the walls, the perspiring glasses, and slick, hard bodies that slip into the groove around me.

Long into the night, the D.J.  grinds our flesh, until we are pulsating nerve endings seeking relief in sweat that flows like crocodile tears.

[Stephen Torelli]

And crocodile passion. In fact, this reminds me of the days when I was a young soldier. Nice write.

[Annabelle Baptista]

Thanks everyone who has commented. It's been fun reading your remarks.

[Angela]

I felt it.  Saw it, smelled it, tasted it, heard it.  Great experience.

[Jeanette Cheezum]

I love this. It takes me back many years.

[Teresa]

Dance like there's no tomorrow.  Because maybe there won't be!  This six put me right on the dance floor.  It's a courtship dance, a fertility strut, a celebration of life.  I love your imagery and word choices. 

[Gita]

I like the image of high heels as incisors. In fact, I like all the atmopherics of this piece. I've been in clubs like this and one thing's for sure:  no amount of booze can replace all the fluids that leak out of dancers at the hour of lust.