the witching hour

The lights are low, the party’s in full swing,
Half-naked beauties traipse the silken dark—
Some gym-sculpted, face and skin aglow;
Some honey-colored, blest by solar burst.
But then, the doomsday cards are held aloft:
“Tisoys are sure to steal the evening’s show.”
Before I plunge myself to eat the dust,
A sudden dragon dims the midnight suns,
Eclipsing tricks against majestic tricks,
Wand’ring past the shocked, defeated forms.
The longing look and then, the scorching blaze
Bring the quick delirium to a boil
Fleeting, yes, yet supernatural,
Like a wizard’s chant forged in memory.
When fires sparkle in his China eyes,
Skins pale and fair envy my gorgeous brown.
Latinas dominate, but mine’s the crown.