In the Bull Ring.

In the Bull Ring
　
"and then," you tell me,
pausing, thinking on your feet.
Sometimes you lean back lightly,
pull yourself up to your Gazelle height
or sidestep a little to focus on me.
Sometimes you thrust elegant hands,
exquisite hands deep into trouser pockets-
turning them, flashing them
fisted at me,
as your head tilts
and you almost grin...
...as I ache.

Sometimes you raise your brows
fleetingly, fixing me with your gaze,
eyes flickering over my face
searching me for details...
...as we ache.

Sometimes we stagger
in laughter together
through the Bull Ring,
desire and hysteria
filling our eyes,
blooming our cheeks
as we burst absurdities.
Or lustful we wind
animal bodies together
...aching.