Storm
The storm won’t let go, won’t let near, Rumbling somewhere beyond the edge, And from that far-off border, it flickers— Blinding the sky for a moment, Scattering sparks in my eyes, Aiming straight at my heart, Or simply laughing out loud.
Bare lightning bolts leap Through fields of raw electricity, The wind spins in circles, chasing Squadrons of suicide butterflies. And night shatters into pieces— Into quanta, into corpuscles. A dance with the storm, Both muscle and musk, With the scent of cigarettes, With the taste of testosterone.
It pulls me into a paradise of voltage, A deadly ozone wound. A new pose, a new dose Of heat, of hunger, of longing. Give me your alibi Like sugar dissolving in blood, Forgive me my slip of the tongue, My irrefutable proof.
Step out of your hiding place, Take what’s left of my calm, Share with me your communion. No matter what else I say— You are my atmospheric bliss, My distant storm.
