Bashful Spasms

Bashful Spasms
We dance in bashful spasms
To the sounds of Fauvists making love,
The shrieks of exaltation,
That paint the moon with blood.

Let me taste the tears upon your skin,
The glorious hint of horror.

We brace for a bolero
With brutal passion dripping;
Bring me the fevered march!
Bring me something gripping!

Let us circle round the spectacle,
In time with ruthless rhythms.

We fall fast in breathless bundles,
Spent from spinning without restraint.
The choir bends to silence,
But still I sense the tuneful taint.

Let me mourn you without ceasing,
An epitaph of flesh.