That walk,
that long-limbed walk
beginning where the leg joins,
that languid arrogance,
that neck and head floating in rhythm,
I bet a giraffe could tango.

Those eyes,
those great tender eyes,
those lashes shielding
those half-closed bedroom eyes,
I could tango in the deep of those eyes.

That heart,
that massive beating,
that pulse thrummng long
that great silken neck,
that thumping, coursing life,
I could tango in that deep-eyed rhythm.

That coat,
that sleek rippling,
that ancient finger-maze,
that jungle-crackled darkness and light,
I could tango in that deep-eyed rhythmic jungle.

That head,
that cavern for the tongue,
that thorn-threading tongue,
that talented leaf-tickling tongue,
that long-reaching tongue caressing its own ears,
I could tango to that deep-eyed rhythmic jungle tongue.