Peter Stewart Richards

Across the sultry evening square

I feel your hot, black Spanish eyes

and any man, before he dies,

should know Flamenco skirt-hems dare

to lift like fire, to burn the air

between us. I would fight and slay

the charging bull for you - Olé!

This pose, at least, is less absurd

than wooing with the written word

but then; my name’s not Hemingway.

Poem copyright © Peter Stewart Richards 2002. All rights reserved.

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