Theme Park at its Darkest

Within the lock the key creates a flashpoint

And the lambent pressure of her absence

Rolls back in waves from the open door

And mounts walls in cylinders of silence

Where once we sheltered in woven shadows

Drifting down from her invisible wings

And the electricity of orgasm

Glittered random and wild across her skin

I talk to her when I’m in the shower

At least, to the frequencies that linger

And after, standing before the mirror

Watching as my hunkered shadow glowers

Deep beneath the sheen of beaded silver

Draw her ciphered outline with a finger

This entry was posted on August 9, 2020 at 9:42 am and is filed under poetry, sonnet with tags Her Invisible Wings. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.