I wasn't beat
for lighting candles
but my shirt laid
over the lamp
as things grew
dark enough
to mean
something,
limbs tangled
lips pressed
tongues passed
and I knew in my stone-heart-
clump-of-mangled-mass
amidst the sloppy kisses
and passionate gasps that
spit about our mouths,
that I could wake up
to her eyeboogers
and morning breath
forever
if she'd let me,
laying into her
deep enough
to cause health issues
fed by the sounds she made
lived an energy
that could power
a thousand miles
of street lights
and jump-start
any junker
on the roadside,
my shirt
draped-
clung
to the lightbulb;
smoking
beads of sweat
grew like harvest
from a field of pores,
and my thrust ate
from a seemingly-
endless adrenaline
that made the electricity
slow through the walls,
the fire in the wires
came to a creep-like-
cord-blood,
and she came
and she came
and I didn't
as my shirt
lit into low-green-
flames
that danced
slow-like-
truth
and we
grew still,
as if waiting
for the smoke alarm
Eric Hamilton
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/old-romantic-new/
