Poem-A-Day: Day 139

Stimulatedly Transmitted Disease

She’s looking at me cautiously
through a windowed pain,
like she wants to speak words
gone incredibly somehow silent.

I listen intently, as if I hear
every word in dissonant bastion
stepping twice, before retreating
back to cherished hallowed halls.

She motions with one finger
inciting distant shadow dances,
deep within her prison cell
of shackles trapped wistful wishing.

I oblige her, in godlike ways
every time I see the fateful call
brimming sexually, twisting fate
as if it knew own smoldered speech.

She bows courteously
from view in a sinner’s way,
begging for some sanctuary
in some undressed uniformity.

I follow completely, damning gods
to follow suit in the same
beguiling mystery, the woman
that has become infectious infatuation.