Earthlings In July - Poem by Tara Teeling
are the perfect setting for all things erotic.
When the flashes fill the room,
we curl close, like milk-fed kittens
thinking of how soft each other’s skin would be
without the cloth.
all in a room that ignites in short bursts,
affording quick, rhythmic glimpses of
our nakedness; we dance like natives,
lunging like beasts while salting our skin.
Voltaic scars on the starless skin of midnight
arouse the lust for fear which fuels us all.
We are awake and aware,
pushed back into our insignificance
by the most exalted of voices,
cowering and yet, full of fire.
All of the rules,
save those beyond our will,
have broken at our feet,
leaving us strangely sovereign,
in a world where skin and blood
possess no authentic power.
Sanctuary breathes under the covers
when the cosmos begins to break
into jagged, portentous pieces.
We are certain of nothing;
we are only comforted by
the touch of bodies,
sparking in the dark.
When our eyes begin to close
there is only the peace of black
despite the howls and the clamour,
and we are stroked and soothed by it,
this ominous, elysian lullaby.
Our delusions are spoiled,
but we know we are breathing.
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