Flies buzz lazily around the snail trail of cream running along the edge of the boy’s arm as he watches the crowd step into the open field.

            A woman with an exceptionally long left arm dragging behind her a set of twins attached at the heart, bearded pygmies pushing wooden barrels leaking fuel for the fire eaters, a man cloaked in black with a long crooked point in his hat carrying a box covered in faded wood roses filled with hope-worn cards, magic spells, bottles of liquid incantations and prayers to lesser gods.

            Heavy canvassed tents and wagons are spread out, spewing smells of cumin, onions and dragon’s blood incense.

            A conductor steps out from a cloud of vapors, his six-foot-long black and gray mane of hair dragging along a collection of twigs and small insects devoured through tiny follicle mouths. He leads a band of musicians along the edge of the circle’s center, each in varying degrees of blindness, leading each other hand-on-shoulder, hand-on-shoulder.

            The crickets stop to listen as the music begins.

            Song floating in and out of the background, fire building, clowns serenading the crowd with flame throwing and juggling bottles of honeyed water for the women.

            The groom marches in, leading the hand of his bride as her red dress tosses dried blossoms from the ground, a thin skin of dust clinging to its hem.

            The waltz begins softly, slowly coaxing her out. She begins with arms lifted, wrists twisting, bending legs, landing, leaning into his thigh.

            Turning his face into hers, he takes in her scent.

            Laughing, he turns his back then stops to kneel before her, removing a pebble from between her toes.

            Pulling away, she stands before the crowd, eyes traced in charcoal, nostrils searching, she draws in another man.

            Kicking up her leg, she catches him by the shoulder and pulls, forcing the smell of her to him.

            Closing his eyes he holds back a groan then begins to move with her, sweat puddling between palms, she watches, a twisted smile on her face.

            She twists him, turns and bends as the dress sweats from her warmest places.

            Frantically the band plays, catching, holding the rhythm
            Tambourine crashing against skin
            Purple lips of busted veins tucked into mouth pieces
            Sheep gut strings tickled, held, released by warm vibrating hands

            A veil tossed into the air descends upon the two dancers, their pace picks up, her face a thin layer of a woman from somewhere in this dream.

            Tearing away the cloth, he finds her hand and places fingertips to lips, allowing a quick dart of his tongue he takes in her salt.

            Sage and sand trapped beneath nail

            Pulling her closer, music serenading, he leans his head in.

            Breaking through the human circle he slips out into the shadows watching as she dances, kicking, twisting, legs breaking rhythm.

            An old woman in a shawl woven of dried beetles shoves a bottle to his lips.

            Maroon sweetness, warm and nutty, floating around in his head, he continues to drink and watches as the crowd flows, claws, pounding the earth into submission —an animal print?

            Pulling at his shirt, he wipes his face, blurring away the mutations.

            Slipping from the circle, hungry, she grabs the bottle from his hands, swallowing, coaxing him further into the shadows. Dancing by fire reflection, she begins to tear at his clothes.

            Pulling at her hair, heat radiating through his fingers, he cannot stop.

            Wanting to kiss her, taste her mouth, he pulls her towards his face.

            The scream is lost in the clapping and stomping of the earth.

            Her dress glowing red, shaking herself free of its dust, she marches in with her groom as she tastes him from her fingertips.