Floodgates Floor
The night sweaty with lust…
lust and dancing,
and the sweet ambrosia of life
pouring out of every direction
past every tent post,
and centralizing
on a fourteen by fourteen square,
and writhing in some uncontrollable manner.
It probably smells to outside noses,
but the smell of delight is overwhelming,
the smell of burning energy exuding hot and wet,
like a factory toiling away,
manufacturing dissonant bliss
and cranking it out by the fistful,
leaving nothing behind
but unadulterated joy.
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