Night’s thick sticky mad air
tangible on the eyelashes
caught in the hair, jammed
between the manzana lips &
the sharp-tipped teeth of
Tonight, this dance floor
a world of its own:
littered with bodies, steaming
pixilated lovers & women like skyscrapers
Three inch spiked stakes slammed
into the dance floor with each
boom of bass and stumble in judgment.
Tall impossibly stable, so defined
they may drill straight through to hell
them fire-tipped stilettos.
Python apex peaks, arch like snakes
around prey, split-tongue lovers
spineless scaled & secret soft-bellied
contracting with each step hissed
across the Saturday stage
until we’re bitten one too
many and barefoot.
Blood orange patent leathers
pumping Sanguinello Salsas and Cha-Chas
through tight knit veins of bare legs
pounding out 1,2s and 1,2,3s
on a blind bar: kicking Cosmos
stomping Kamikazes’ citrus,
raw as a rind.
Tonight, these heels
are the grand sum of our existence.
Nights’ wild-gilled gullet
scream for Crepe Satin Peep Toes,
red-bellied Louboutins, plum Sling Backs
out the Chinese Laundry & Choo
Zebra Print Cameroons.
Tonight, we are the Sears,
the Chrysler, the Eiffel,
the Empire State &
Tonight, we won’t size-down
for the guy in the button-down
or an ache in the heel bone.
Tonight, these overpriced soles’
pumping is more vital than a hearts’,
will heal the bone, the ache but
not tomorrow’s hungover heartbreak.
Tonight, we: Shake down cities with
each spike slammed step of your Flamenco,
steal cherries out the bottomless Manhattans
with sharp stabs of stilettos, spell
out trouble with our two-tipped tongues:
You get bad for me &
I promise to walk all over you.