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.
Gert Strydom
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-a-restaurant-2/
