Her Body Was That of a Dancer

Her body was that of a dancer,  
all moving with ease and grace.  
 
There was pride in her face,  
pride in her history,  
pride in her genetic heritage.  
 
I wanted to coopt a portion of that pride,
to feel that inner strength of character.  
So, I kissed her, expecting hesitancy.  
I was wrong. She was ready to give  
more than I'd expected.  
I felt a wave of gratitude when  
she kissed me a second time  
and said only a simple, “Yes,”  
with a warm tone of conviction.  
 
The shiny black skin of a girl sweaty with passion  
and physical effort is a beautiful thing.  
Under the sheets of our squeaky hotel bed,  
we writhed inside our stuffy sauna.  
I thought her sweet moans were clear enough  
to fill our room and the next.  
 
When we were done, she still radiated heat  
as a noisy window AC tried in vain to cool us.  
Coming out from under our sweat lodge,  
I looked at her glistening neck.  
I licked at the sheen and tasted the salt of
generations and dancers from before her birth.
And it was all good!