Slow Motion Rush
I’m breaking down beneath my breath,
Your craving hands unclose me.
Conflagrant conversation, a hundred summers,
Melt the holds below me.
The whispered din behind closed doors
Pulls us both below,
The waves of what we’re waiting for,
Crashing on the lamp-light glow.
Our turning hands together tangle,
In knots that tie themselves,
Around, around, in every angle,
As shadows dance on bookcase shelves.
Your outline blurs my twisting frame,
Your face a reddening blush,
Green eyes flow about as flame,
Dancing this slow-motion rush.
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