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brontide
May 19, 2014
her palms were the brontide
of a bigger storm
to come,
the quivering dance on her flesh
making her question
his eyes,
and when he spoke he spoke
lightning, quickly
and hot;
his breath on her neck like
friction
between the most uncomfortable parts
of her shame;
so when they asked her, “did you
say ‘no’?” she
could only wonder how
anyone is heard between the claps
of thunder
© Zachary C., Arlington, TN
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“If you're losing your soul and you know it, then you've still got a soul left to lose” <br /> ― Charles Bukowski