The shadows are dancing…
She told me, dear poet. Your love isn’t dead, your love is sleeping. She was a perfect North Dakota girl dancing with a Michigan boy in the city of the forever lights, San Francisco.
She was my raven and I was her dancing coyote. We drank at the San Francisco taverns till we couldn’t drink no-more. She told me. Black love, white love, dead love and alive love. Just taste of ambrosia for us who love the night, the moon and the stars.
I whispered to her wanting ear. The dancing coyote is the joker and the raven. A hunter and seeking of prey. We are too drunk to leave the city and the city had become very quiet. What do we do till the morning lights appeared?
We are sitting by the sea and I laid my head into her warm breasts. We watched the dangerous sea dance for us. She caressed my face and she whispered. Johnnie, you told me. Love is a foolish game, it will steal your will to escape. You shall become a prisoner. Is a prisoner locked-up in the arms of love. A prisoner?
I brought her to her feet and I asked her. Can we dance for the sea and the moon my lovely? Two people danced on the San Francisco pier. I whispered to her, if love is you. I will accept love with open arms and willing heart.
Johnnie/Coyote