Within the Dance
Bodies gyrating to a pulsing beat
making the dance floor into a single throbbing
organism.
Anonymous, sweating people in a world
within their minds as the body follow the command
of the music.
Wet hair, salty with exertion, once perfectly styled -
now in a perfect mess for the dance.
No one cares.
Dancing like no one is watching
and if they are, it doesn't matter.
I'll never see them again.
For once, both alone and a part of the whole.
The thrill of individuality
with the security...
If you fall... your friends will be there
to pick you up,
again.
For a short time,
despite all differences...
we are One.
On the dance floor,
bodies pulsing,
within the dance.
Bitter Sweet Siren
Hers is a voice that sounds like Kathleen Turner
on a hot summer night as she speaks to her lover.
Warm honey over wet sand, but not sticky sweet.
More like the rough touch of a cat's tongue
as it affectionately grooms you.
Sexy with its paradoxically soft and hard sounds
that make you want to hear more -
Never mind what her voice is saying.
Though, the right words are icing on the cake.
Too bad this voice only comes to her
in the bleakness of unwanted illness.
Cruel in its tempting call
while her body is too weak to respond.
poem 3
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(C) 2002 - Eden Blackthorn
