POETRY - EROTIC: Dancing, Just Before The Storm Breaks,

Dancing, Just Before The Storm Breaks,

With you in that special

pinkish-grey quality of light

where patches of bright,

cool light cut through

darker, muddier illumination,

the aroma of the coming rain

hangs lightly like a mist

in the air, I anticipate

the first clap of thunder.

Lightning becomes our only

electricity, candles

our only light soliciting

us to continue the tango.

Wax melts, wicks tender

flickering flames with massive

achromatic chords as our

stuttering melody proceeds

not by slow layers but

expressive, successive, rapid

notes like fingers that seem to be

Saying, or writing something

Halfway down our spines.

Delicious tension increases

sweeping the clouds aside

so that soft place between

dancing scrotum and anus

where you linger in what

seems like the ancient

entranceway sealed over

by time permits no release

until the storm subsides

as if a switch was thrown

and the frantic fugato rhythms

Slow to a steady rise and fall.

Everything is liquid and

aromatic—yes, you can smell

again—and you are gripped

at the root by those powerful

contracting pulses...more felt than

seen or heard yet echoes in

plangent cadences from

dissipating clouds above.

Acquiring textures of

luminous clarity, you appreciate

I can take you to the brink

again and again, your entire

focus surges toward the end of

your throbbing organ and the

storm's tremendous pressure

reaches your head and chest and

you can hear a fast-approaching

climax of whooping horns ready

to blow. You stiffen. The air tightens.

The tornadic winds and 

torrential are unleashed.

©Mimi Wolske, March 2014

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