I stand alone in my dark room graphite
black, stand in silence, listening for your
pulse blocks away. One day, perhaps one night,
I’ll feel your heartbeat, hand pressed to contour
of your breast with such sensitive power
your muscle’s rhythm will cauterize flesh,
brand my skin with images of flowers
viewed only at night, their soft petals fresh
as dew: Nymphaea Red Flare,
Dragon Fruit,
Brahma Kamal—hues of moon and final
pulse of sunset—our blood flow conduit
to our soul. Come to me when you’re able,
or summon me to your room: its soft light,
magic colors hypnotizing our night.
Roger Armbrust
March 19,
2014
