Bacchanalia - Poem by Michael Stephens
...supine bodies of naked, sweaty flesh
intertwined on the floor like
snakes in their spring mating ritual
undulating in their collective need.
you are somewhere in the center
violating and violated
only vaguely aware
that the room smells of the salty sea
urging you on like waves
in an incessant rhythm,
to break on this moving shore.
and in the morning, just as the
sun begins to rise,
you get dressed, stealing furtive glances
at one another:
is she the one that -?
is he the one that -?
and then you steal away into
the crisp autumn morn
to begin a new day
Comments about Bacchanalia by Michael Stephens
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