Enchanted, swooned in dance
The Matadores married the Bull.
They move to the rhythm set
By his gravel-shaking hooves and
The graceful tap taps of her feet.
Urged by playful lust, he charges.
She sways and plays and smiles.
Through her crimson lips tongues slip.
The dance rushes, she blushes,
The Bull’s drive stays relentless
Beastly nature cannot hide.
Thwarted violence resurges
Tilting horns of brutal intent, yet
She sways and plays and frets
From crimson lips blood may drip
How long can the Matadores dance,
How long can the Matadores survive?