Sparks
I knew when sparks flew
From my brand in her cavern,
The friction-lit dark
Fanned the impotent fires;
The charring of juices
Hot, uric and spicy,
Flowed a lateral tango
And the hairs sluiced with life.
With a breath of exalting
The dream turned to torture,
Collapsed in a gnarling
Of dust from the grind;
When done only dying
With memory and meat-hooks
Simmered down upon skin
And the night embroiled vengeance.
Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2005
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