Dance with the Devil
Zac Jones Gomez
About the Author
Zac is a writer from Washington, DC who uses the confluence of the natural and literary worlds to heal himself and his loved ones. His work has been featured in art galleries. Find more of his musings on urbanism at The Tactical Urbanist on Substack.
I dance with the devil
as lights flash him neon
and he pins me in place with only hazel eyes,
lustful gaze locked on his prey.
I spin
The devil’s eyes are bright,
undimmed by liquor, but his hips
move like the waves of the ocean
on which his spirit sails unburdened.
I spin
Hooded eyes, shorter stature, the devil
wavers in his stance but never his stare
as he cocks an eyebrow to fire the words
“Am I a good kisser?”
I spin
The devil’s skin is dark night and hard granite,
roaming hands and probing tongue
and laugh that fills the dance floor to
spill out into the frozen night.
I spin
The devil is tall and composed
as he reads within my eyes
searching between the lines for
permissions he won’t ask.
I spin
The devil is packed wall to wall
his joy and his passion and his sin
multiplied by factors unknown
as long as the lights are low.
We devils dance and kiss and
fuck and laugh and
make fun of yet another trip around the sun.
Hot as hell, but it turns out it’s
a hell of a lot of fun.
I spin.