His Dream Dancer Poem by Linda Marie Van Tassell

I shall call myself 'his lover' and not reveal my name.
Who I am is not important, the result is the same.
I work for a living with a computer on my desk.
In dreams, I am dancing in some seedy downtown burlesque.
He walks into the dance club, beholding my firm, full breasts.
I can see where he's looking and where his desire crests.
His growing passion is obvious, pronounced in his sighs.
I bend my body over as each man beneath me cries.
The flames are climbing higher as the lights glimmer above.
I give them what they dream of, some exotic goddess love.
My flesh is wet and glistening and dripping quite entire.
His lips are all but sipping me, moistened in his desire.
Honey seeps through my closed lips as I dream we are alone.
He pours himself into me to the sex of saxophone.