Betsy Tango

by Mike Foldes

Betsy Tango, dance with me.
When I first read your name
I wanted to strip it off the page,
take it in my arms, swirl
it like warm brandy
in a crystal snifter. Dance
with me while I run fingers
along the curves of your ass,
pull our hips together, squeeze
juice from the lemon.
Betsy Tango, you’re out of earshot,
now, I can say it aloud,
let me take you on the floor,
upright, rigid, succinct
in movement, violent, yet
thoughtful, step by step
from dusk when you come alive,
until, infused with night,
morning stops us
in our tango tracks.