Sirens wail
while children follow at our feet
asking for money
like dogs begging for scraps.
There is a chill
in the January air, but
"dos mas tequilas, por favor?"
and we are cold no more.
Our bodies move
in sultry rhythm
like two snakes rising
from a charmers pot.
I kiss her ears, lips, and neck, and
we dance until the sun comes up.
The perfect stranger: not to be
seen again, but remembered forever.
