It isn't about ***
The act of making love is not the steam
For the stream is something more
It is the capture of eyes
The brush of knees
Intertwining fingers
And the comfortable silence
It is being so close and yet unable to touch
The heat building within bitten lips
Knowing glances
Bodies dancing without movement
To the same record spinning in two heads
In two separate places
The steam is the promise of thought
The what could be;
The letting go

My heart beats
In patchwork patterns
Stitched together by the spark in your eye
It is the body temperature rising
As you make me into a volcano
Pressure building
The lava in my veins
My emotions pushing to the surface
I am steam.
You make me want to let go.

We are careful with clockwork precision
Trapped in routine like well oiled machines
Steaming at the seams
Waiting to break free
The nuts and bolts loosening in the lubricated alcoholic air of freedom
Though now is not the time to fall apart
Yet to come together
One glorious engine in motion
Bellowing steam at the station
Waiting
To let go

hope springs eternal
in the human breast.
though, we cope to journal
what we can't digest.
i digress. i confess,
i’m a mess yet i address
what i transgress and i reassess
my disposition. for instance,
i made a decision to make progress and what i set, i met.
yet i let myself regress to a great depression
in which i questioned what was predestined
so i searched for penance and found surrealism.
i heard sundry ideals, the sounds of theism.
i let my thoughts run free among the prisms
and tasted other worldly wisdom on my tongue.

© Matthew Harlovic

I am sand
you are ocean
together, we are
the little grains of sand
caressing
the edge of the ocean