. . . at which point a line is crossed

realize and allow this together
as neon and fluorescent gel,
mirrored in widened eyes soaking,
lungs hoarding the air they share

seek to tame, or possibly inflame,
an unspoken mood, depending on the day’s
desired significance – lost in the
deep stare and blinding bone-white

dance – does her duty well, in exchange
for a palm, a creased tithe – tattered sweaty ones
feed the kid and keep the landlord at bay
another month spent, not looking for a better way to

pass, the time here engaged
in a darkened timeless commerce,
a span the width of sand is breached,
allowed and realized,

boundary dissolves with a tender, unbeckoned
touch, the line erased, skin on skin,
haze of assent envelopes
as they smile ambiguous smiles


7 thoughts on “. . . at which point a line is crossed

  1. Wow…this poem creates some very intriging images…rather liked its overall impact.

  2. This poem invoked all kinds of images in my mind and in turn all kinds of emotions in my heart. Great writing.

  3. ThePsychobabble March 13, 2010 — 8:14 pm

    This is one of those that really resonates.

  4. Ooh! I LIKE poet Brian! Very nice. Very nice indeed.

  5. What’s the emoticon for fingers snapping?

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