I’ve seen heaven in a downed power line
Close to the earth and tangled in the trees
Undulating in the wind like black Chrysopelea
The last fiery remnants of a rogue kite that refuses to leave quietly
Watching butterflies flitter about her live wire hair
Like ghost children poking each other in the sins
Saturating dish towels with the energy raining from her fingertips
Huffing her aura and getting high
She tastes like jazz
She smells like a blind man’s description of his soulmate’s perfume on the day they first met
Her skin feels like self-esteem wrapped in velvet
Soft to the touch
I have bridged the current
Once you’ve been electrocuted, every other human experience is prosaic
Your syrupy fingerprints adhered to my ghost
Ten fiery kites tangled in tree limbs
Smudged across a glass house
Stretching their colors to beyond
I pray for lightning
The perfect storm
Sunday, March 1, 2009
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