The arc-lights are blurred
by condensation
on glass.
Fingertip streaks occur
whereever passion presses,
and the burning fleshes
compress yesterday’s messes
into an oubliette,
so deep in our minds’ recesses.
We are yearning…
A flash of remorse
yields the steam-heated torque
(keep burning, keep bending)
required by the design,
(red)print, those lines, searing,
and permanently imprinted
on these souls-offending.
…it’s what we both needed.
Fingertips on the glass
leave streaks in time
with the flared pairing
of two hearts beating.
“I love the way
that red hot glass
shines.”
©️ Obol, 2020.
