The wind peels the siding off the house in sheets and bits

As easily as tearing newspapers for papier-mache.

The flame dances and spirits in and out of existence over orange-hot

Coals that fuel every gyration.

A white phosphorus blast of light from each flash

Suspends time in a frame.

Music muted near silence, shimmering of passion,

Cuts a cold steel knife into the soul.

The dying leaf explodes with color

As if someone breathed fire into its veins.

Pinpoint of desire drills into the center of the body and

Ripples out waves of demented emotion.

This entry was posted in Poetry by bgm1969. Bookmark the permalink.

About bgm1969

This blog is updated by a guy who’s overweight, silly, Liberal, spiritual rather than religious, infatuated with beauty and grace, musically blessed, and always changing.

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