A Brief Interlude

Liquid lightning, my fingers brush her
Senses, secretively screaming
A dark street of desire
Controlled and steady rhythm

She stands – immobile as a statue
Back arched in naïve supplication
A subconscious acceptance
Muscles, responding with infinite grace

My mind, a devouring hunger-smith
My hand, a fatherly comforter
Our eyes do not meet
Shying from the emptiness

Brief and fleeting, black and deep
A shadow of unconscious memory
My fingers die a lonely death
And once again we smile

A Brief Interlude

Mark German

Strathmore, Australia

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