He pauses by my tent, flirtation-lite
at the start, a random meeting
amid the large crowd.
But there he is,
waiting for the band guaranteed
to melt your face off.
I sit down, we chat,
he mentions his wife.
His hand unmistaken at my waist,
just two lines into September,
we dance as a whole,
pull apart, up together,
I brush his shirt as I pass,
we twirl, his arms surround mine,
my hand feels the thrill
of him singing softly along.
Love Shack, Superstition,
Sweet Home Alabama.
We close the place down,
then name Ursa Major,
Taurus, Orion’s belt
as we walk back to camp.
At my place we hug
for a little too long.
We hug again. I sigh
You’re married, right?
The next day he stops by,
more hugs too long, more pulsing want.
He says I’m all stirred up,
I think So am I.
I pack up first after the ride.
He will look for my car when he is done.
A tornado watch is declared.
I depart.
