You say you want to be seduced. I want

that, too. Not me. You. I want to seduce

you: with song, with soul, with the feral haunts

of your thwarted passions. I know the juice

you keep bottled between your legs, DJ.

Let us incantate: Kafé – Kasita –

non Kafela. “All these beats will obey

what these grooves/ demand. Bloody, raw

and in command.” Shall we dance, my spitfire?

Shall I taste all that runs between your legs?

This is my glamour’s glimmer. My coy please.

My pomp’s circumstances and rude desire.

We are what we play. For you lust plagues.

For me one irksome and vexing cock tease.

][][

Notes.

It starts with Bowie’s “I am a D.J., I am what I play.”