How softly warm, Venetian tease:
A Siren’s call from ’cross the sea.
Infused here with my Cuban breeze,
Recalls my youth and calls to me.
Enthralled by beauty and by charm,
I bask in light that finds my light.
And ink from pen in hand from arm,
Bull-charges hard and stirs the fight.
Should now I simply stand content,
And step in front of lit desire?
Pour out what surely will ferment,
And douse this spreading wildfire?
It’s not a missing valise found,
But I around her finger wound…
© 2021 CJames, All Rights Reserved