At a restaurant
I once went to a restaurant
called the tent
somewhere in Sea point
and the owner laid a feast
of lamb stew
and rice in front of me.
The Turkish coffee
was without sugar
and extremely strong,
but a belly dancer
danced up to me
and smiled sweetly
and every motion
had a rhythm of its own.
There was electricity
when I danced along
and passion glowed
in her dark eyes.
poem by Gert Strydom
Added by Poetry Lover
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