Like the sounds of a thousand conch shells reverberating,
Like the touchdown of feet on dew laden grass,
Like the first song sung since the break of dawn,
or, on a harsh incendiary day,
Like the sun drawing in his talons.
When bathed in moonlight,
phosphorescent bugs flitting by,
leave little trails of fire,
studding the velveteen darkness
like jade on a rich ermine:
just such, little explosions
erupt within my core,
straining every nerve ending,
chased down my spine.
Detonations straggle,
chase after each other,
leave tiny trails of desire,
Like the softest touch
of a baby's behind.
Aware, awake,
yet partly doused,
my body and my mind-
sated, also satisfied.
Confusion and clarity,
your voice evokes,
twin strands woven together,
now ache, now delight.
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