Old Ways and Redheads.

Sometimes that is what we need -
A fleeting second with a woman whose body moves like Soul and whose lips
Are sweet like the present,
And a wild night where tongues
become electric and yesterday runs like
Wet paint down the spine.
Where there is only a dark room
With a woman who beams a Cheshire grin
And a slippery Grace that
Beats Man wholly into unconsciousness.