Poetry: The Entrance

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Dark Room

My fingers caress smooth satin nickel

As the ice in the vodka glass tinkles

Like wind chimes singing in a seashore breeze.

The door opens to reveal candlelight

Flooding walls colored in the memory of blue

With sunflower hints cast from the fire.

On bare feet I reach the occasional

On the far side of the rough iron bed

To find her instruments, tools and playthings.

Soon the room fills with fuck-driving music,

Followed by impatient smoke, scarred tension

And the low-level buzz of a heartbeat.

Now a flick—a fade—a shake of her hair—

Eyes flashing—skin teasing—the dance begins.

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