It had us like fever,
humid and dark
in the back of that bar.
You, in that linen.
Me, in that dress.
Laughing at our waiter
with his dancing mustache
when he teased us
leaving half-drunk bottles
on the table
for something more intoxicating.
We were our own revolution.
A blaze of flower in my hair,
your melt-me smile,
and
our favorite salsa record,
volume just right.
For Shay’s WGWL