Nov 2016

Waiting for the next song
to come on or a pin
to drop, whatever it is that comes

I can't seem to remember the words
to his face or the melody
of his hands.
But the beat
of his power is
there. That tune I recognize.
That I know and memorize and regurgitate
in rhythm--100 bpm
or something stronger.

My heart pounding
so fast I can't feel
it in my chest,
but rather my lungs, my stomach, my gut
instinct gone numb-- a spreading warmth,
not hot, but intrusive and bursting
--no it couldn't be--
with thirst. A cocktail of passion
and power. Ravenous and subsuming.

I fell in
submission--weary and weak.
The world had exhausted me and he
had reaped the rewards. A phoenix,
he rose
from my ashes.

Leaving me
to smolder, to piece
together my
Or let them scatter across
ashtrays and Hennessy.

Written by
Kenna  Vienna, Austria
(Vienna, Austria)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems