Touching You, Touching Me

Flaunting our beauty
before the crowd,
we dance,
tapping our feet,
our shoes against the boards,
our arms uplifted,
working the castanets,
dancing.

We dance
to the music of flamenco,
twirling and whirling,
making our bodies sway,
letting the world know
we are here,
and we are here to stay.

We dance,
and we join hands,
delicate hands,
feminine hands,
together at last.

Free to express
the joy
of being
girls, of women, of ladies, together.

One joyous exhortation
to the crowd to cheer,
that we are here,
as one.

We are here,
together at last.

Together to be seen,
to be ourselves.

Laughing with the happiness
of freedom.

Free to be ourselves.

The gitanos of lust,
the gypsies of passion,
of love.

Touching you,
as you touch me,
with dainty, tender hands,
my little treasure of caresses.

Of gentle strokes
to my body.
My body trembling with need,
and our wants are met.

Finally,
the urges can be fulfilled,
without a doubt or a fear,
we are finally free.

My precious wife of adversity,
my fulfillment
of necessity.

My ecstasy.

Flinging our tresses out
to the world of passion
and liberation,
and the end of hiding and
desperation;
the end of hate and fear.

This ending is our beginning.

My flower of sincerity
and endearment.

My precious wife of adversity.

My fulfillment.

My necessity.

My final, ultimate ecstasy.