Poetry: The Fire of Music

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Bass guitar pounds against blue atmosphere

Spun by glass oil lamps, shimmering candles

Dancing to each surging note as I move

Muscles to place my body in clear view

 

The guitarist teases each bite of silk

From his fingers while I reach down to feel

Strength building to conquest.

 

The door opens,

The blood surges.

I grow hard in deep breaths.

 

Eyes drawn to eyes averted, drawn to breasts

In profile, thighs effortlessly moving

To music within, music surrounding.

 

Muscles move to meet, always in rhythm,

With cold intent.

 

One will melt.

One will rise.

Two will ignite in the fire of music.

 

©2012 Robert Morrow. Photo Credit: © Papuga2006 | Stock Free Images &Dreamstime Stock Photos

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Poetry: Glorious

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Returning heroes honored in ribbons,

The rich worshipped, their names whispered in awe

By envious lips; the champions face

The adoration of the crowds, who use

Victory in play as a substitute

For a deficit of hope and trophies.

But there is no power as glorious

As a woman who owns body and soul

Striding proud and naked into a room,

Ignoring flaws, alive with confidence that no one

That no one subdue the pure desire

Craving realization. If you hear

The ethereal voice, the eerie cry

Of oblivion, you have found glory.