The pictures flash.
They cascade past and tug
At the edges of sight.
They fill the idle moments, the empty spaces
With moist warm delicious knots.
Filed away.
Clamoring for attention.
Dry tinder, waiting for the spark
Of a glance, a gesture, a sigh.
The pictures flash.
I’ve tasted of your velvet fire.
Chilled to your satin touch.
Wondered aimlessly , awed, through
The endless blue-gray halls.
Drawn in past half-closed lids and eyelash bars.
Listening to the long-forgotten, familiar
Music of joy.
Filled to the lip and overflowing.
The pictures flash and fill
The world with light.