Phantom Flamenco

What would you do if Death himself invited you with menace in his voice
to trip the light fantastic? You’d resist but have no other choice.
As lilting Latino music filled the air your fears would begin to grow
your bodies close yet not touching as you’d dance the last fandango.
His hollow eyes would pierce your own, how boastfully he’d sway his hips; 
skilfully circling, the horror of his bony face only inches from your quivering lips.
Standing rigid as the music ceased, staring into his nightmare face,
the giddying guitars would strike up again, this time at a ferocious pace.
The castanets between his bony fingers, heat and tempo dangerously high
you’d call out for a semblance of mercy yet he’d ignore your pitiful cry.
Recklessly whirling about the floor his savage energy confusing your mind,
the music fading from your hearing, your eyes would become in operatively blind.
Silently screaming with muted voice, unable to see what was ahead
you’d stumble into his cold embrace your nostrils filled with the scent of the dead.

So when the dance floor beckons, whether it’s hip hop or disco you adore
My friend be oh so wary of who you're saving the last dance for!