He Calls It Dancing

Last night, dressed to kill,
He says I went dancing must be that he woke again to me sleeping off the nights entanglement in his head.
I guess he felt my hips sway to the music and my hair slapping him in the face as dizzy and slipping I brilliantly moved at a staggered but alluring pace.
I think he saw me bent and spread out among the poker table and knew he'd been cheated of the winning hand.
He asks me "Did you enjoy dancing last night?" and my whiskey laced grin reminisces of the fire that burned me skin and the ash that rose the flame in my heart as I parted for my mission's pleasure and mine alone and to him my response. "Dancing is what we call it now aye? You know I could ask you the same."
Silence while he pauses too think of a way to justify his jealousy, I love him jealous, I'm turned on by his greed.
Long time since he filled me and claimed my bed, my mind his own, but some how old habits rise slow and steady as our bodies become the beasts that hunger in forests dark.
I was a ghost, a phantom stalking his door where he watched for my entrance once more.
My storm entangled his chaos time and time before.
He calls it dancing, the way I fade and sway back in.