stripper

she slides onto the stage, stilettos on the mirror surface,
and the men gasp audibly, even the regulars pause with the drinks suspended midway.
something about her curves, her matte skin glistening in the spotlight,
sculptured firm legs, legs of a Persian race horse,
ending in two round semi-moons that make mouths salivate from the desire to bite.
a sheer black robe covers her from the hungry impatient eyes -
just enough to fuse into the fantasies already formed in their minds,
and a few hands involuntarily reach for the crotch -
this Bianca, Rosanna, Lola or Kanisha, whatever her name may be,
is making even the elite clientele forget themselves and act like mortal men.
for the moment, they are all engaged, this is no longer just a background
for their meetings, deals and rendezvous'.

she turns to the pole, calves tense, head bent slightly to the left,
the smallest move is orchestrated to highlight
each sensual inch of her dark body.
the soft lounge beat suddently picks up the pace,
in one effortless leap her legs are wrapped around the pole.
men groan, now reaching for the wallet as well,
knowing the etiquette and the unspoken rules.
in a few minutes they will have their only chance
to outbid each other, getting those legs to tightly wind around their waist.

her robe slides off, bronze moist skin shimmers
as she bends, lifts herself up, legs dancing in the air.
she looks back at her audience, a small smile
playing on the corner of her full lips,
painted in deep purple.
the lights dim.
the lace bra is last to come off.
she bends backwards from the pole,
offering the sight
of her perfect breasts
and long graceful neck,
jet black hair
cascading down to the stage.