Inside,
words born of electric lights
are clamoring for more
attention.
Those walls and desks close in
they seem to rise
each every way you look.
A screen is poor substitute
for what a flower knows to do
without effort or design;
don't wait until you break:
this tension
is one more warning sign.
Let's go somewhere
and skip this silent hum of wires:
my mouth is yours;
your hands are mine
to celebrate Desire.
(eik, 2010)
Recent Comments