La petite mort

Do we mourn it or should we yearn to die it together

a thousand times, night upon night upon night?

As dusk falls, and crepuscular creatures take control of the air

the senses, the electricity that holds us in thrall to ourselves

and the sparks that fly chaotically between us -

So we find our minds wandering, our dreams hazing

and the slim thread that binds our thoughts to our bodies

becomes taut, tense, resonating at a higher pitch.

When struck or plucked or merely brushed against

the chord produces sounds, sometimes cast from heaven

sometimes flung violently from hell.

Both are embraceable, both can be magical

both are impossible to repeat or recreate at exactly the same pitch.

~ by fatalname on April 9, 2008.