Ceviche

The flamenco music 

Cuts the sultry night air at Cevíche

On Beach Drive in Saint Pete

Engulfed in a crowd of strangers

In a fire burning wildly

Guitar licking against vocals

Short print dresses beckoning 

Men in fine slacks and black shoes

Shoulder-length hair flowing

Low ceiling in darkened

Cellar forcing Brazilian samba

Thumping forcefully

As brass trumpet announces 

A sudden escalation of energy 

Dancers clap in worship

Bodies echo unceasing sampras

Hips gliding together then moving,

Apart, only to spin back

I am caught in the flow of the dance 

Arms reaching for mine, as I look over

Humanity crowding small stage

Hoping to lay eyes on Latin master

Turning metal strings into heated 

Rhythmic explosion

He let’s loose with cries of “Salute!”

The crowd responding in kind

As bliss reigns unchecked