tagErotic PoetryErotic Muses: Terpsichore

Erotic Muses: Terpsichore

byMawrGorshin©

I

O dancing goddess, when you sway your hips,
You make my heart shake to the beat
To which you sensually move, with flawless grace!
The song you sing, a kiss blown from your lips,
Caresses my ears with its sweet,
Erotic notes, bringing a grin to my rapt face.
You turn to me; I stand here, to your left.
Approaching me, you make me sweat:
Your strophe is a stroking of my fiery loins.
As you arouse me, don't leave me bereft
Of your deliciousness; you whet
My hunger for your flesh. He's happy whose tongue joins
Yours in a tangling dance, licking each other.
I would be he, your partner in
A tango for two tongues that flicker, salivate,
And tickle one another's skin, O Mother
Of movements that rhythms begin.
Your undulating has me in a trancelike state.
Let's dance a duet now, between my sheets.
I'll suck your grape-topped breasts, and you
Will sigh a song with me, a chorus of desire
That's wildly sung by everyone who meets
You, envying what we will do.
Tasting the treat between your legs, I'll fan the fire
I lit with my hot panting mouth above.
Your hips will gyrate to the beat
Of my musical sucking on your labia.
With lust I show you my devoted love,
From your head down to your flitting feet.
Do quench my thirst for you, my monomania.

II

O lovely ballerina deity,
Why do you turn the other way,
And go back to the right side of our room, aloof?
Don't dance so bitter an antistrophe.
Do you, of my lovemaking, say
That, of devotion, you don't feel the needed proof?
Don't give my questions such a cruel answer.
You truly do deserve the best,
And I would give that to you, with all of my heart;
But have I been so indolent a dancer?
Don't put me to so hard a test,
Requiring of a mortal superhuman art.
A mere man cannot be divine, like you,
But he can show you all your worth
By sighing songs of praise that put in bold relief
His lowly love, which rises high up to
You, goddess, far above the earth.
Surely you can appreciate that I am chief
Of all the mortal men adoring you.
We sing a chorus of our love,
But my voice is the loudest and most passionate.
This is a torment that you put me through,
To be a distant mistress of
A man who, more than all others, with you would sit.
Will you never let me touch you again?
Denying me so sweet a taste
After I have enjoyed it is most bitter hell.
If I can't have you now, do tell me when
I can: I'm in impatient haste
To dance with you; only your song can make me well.

III

Now you stand in the middle of our room.
Moving neither to the left, nor right,
You can't decide whether you'd dance with me, or no.
Though you lift me out of a hopeless gloom,
You dangle me in a dim light:
Will it brighten, or darken? It's a smouldering glow.
Nude, you look at your clothes here by my bed,
Then you look at my anxious face.
Nude, I look at your lovely breasts and pubic hair,
And feel my phallus rise, as from the dead.
Though I hope we'll again embrace,
I look into your so capricious eyes, which stare
At your high heels and gown. Will you get dressed,
Or dance back into bed with me?
This so suspenseful epode I cannot endure:
Your after-song has left me most distressed;
It lacks resolving harmony,
Which makes my nervous ears expectant--insecure.
Your standing in the middle, motionless,
Is truly worse than leaving me,
For there's no crueler torture than this hopeless hoping.
Now, if you leave me without even a kiss,
I'll be content, at least, to see
You dance toward the door--me, then, resigned to moping.
O goddess, sing your answer: will you stay?
Will we sigh a harmonious song
In bed, while all the envious chorus boys are weeping?
Will you get dressed, and then dance far away?
My waiting, please, don't you prolong;
Your standing still, not dancing, leaves me never sleeping.

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