|
The Song
(Conception)
It seeps through
a sleepy oak's foliage
with crisp black air and
piercing beams of moon.
It encircles my waist,
caresses my hips in
a gentle sway.
With a snug embrace
it warms my jaw,
moist,
sly,
pleads entrance
with timid tiptoes toward
my earlobe.
It grasps and tugs,
an anxious lover
prodding my approval,
taking my hand,
leading me to its secrets.
It slithers within unseen depths,
pulsating,
hot,
strong,
wet as it connects
with a stimulated psyche,
arouses spiritual storms that form
thunderous floods
surging into rain-filled rivers,
drenching fire of
an unsung desire,
quenching the inferno's thirst.
An ear left unfed by
lyric left unsaid.
In the quiet that follows,
its melody lingers,
reverberates against skin dampened
by the silk-smooth residue
of a jazz tune.
The Singer
(Birth)
Hot chills
falter and dissipate,
throbbing core palpitates
with encouraging murmurs
from thick, thumped cords.
Ebony and ivory
hum and coo through
light, lilting plunks.
Tingly sweet tones
of the saxophone
massage me from
behind, tracing my
shoulder blades like
sweat-warm fingertips.
I inhale and
insides settle with
a tranquil bongo beat.
Exhale and
waves float and drift
like cool harmonic air,
imbuing my trembling
frame with a
touch of soul.
Inhale.
Rushing blood ignites
tar-tinted steel,
echoes almost inaudible
thumps against
bellowing eardrums.
Exhale.
Wood planks stare upward,
daring me to continue.
Inhale.
Tense hands choke
cold metal,
tightening as wind
rises like bile,
threatening to escape.
Exhale.
Very being whooshes through
wire mesh,
permeates space like
a syrupy something
coating easy intermixing
chords like oil,
Inhale.
I'm ready.
|