Belly Dancers

for Artie Gold   (1/15/1947 – 2/14/2007)

Friend,



bereft this very day of wasted body,



maybe you walked into the restaurant



just as we raised glasses of Sardinian wine



to belly dancers in Valentine’s Day fedoras,



Maybe you followed their musk, eyed tattooed midriffs



peeking from velvet halters,  entranced by bangled



arms following beat of cymbals and drum,



kohl-dark eyes enticing you,



bereft of body to feed and tongue to taste,



desire habit revived



by glint of bells around luscious hips.



“Who am I to not want​

  the warmth of the flame,”

  you’d ask in a poem.

   
Tonight, friend,



a harem undulates for you,



waving scarves to speed you



on your long way.

 

 







Claudia Lapp 2/2010

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