Raynette Eitel

When she began her ballad,
an invisible torch melted her words,
slurring sex into sultry sounds.

The intimacy in her deep eyes
went straight to every man there.
Even women found themselves
limp with lust lingering on lips.

As she sang each sensual sound,
Her mouth formed words like a kiss.
Men sweated as they dreamed of
taking songs into the caverns
of their body, stalagmites forming
from music and imagination.
Their eyes closed. The dream grew.

Tones caressed shamelessly. Words went
from tongues exploring mouths of listeners,
a flagrant intimacy growing from song.
The spellbound crowd wished her music
would have no end. Each heavy breath
became shallow with expectations.
The final note brought no release.
Instead, the audience was left
with a prurient promise of more to come.


*Lena Horne died in May of 2010 and those of us lucky enough to hear her sing will never forget her.