Member-only story
Electric Passions Dream Us Awake in Lightning Shrouds
Prose Poetry
static, quick, like a pulse beat, thrum and thrum again, your heart is racing but it can’t hope to outrun this storm that we’re making
a kiss is a thing of ignition — a car starting in the dark of night, the engine revving to life just as the headlights flare, right before the driver goes speeding into the distant shadows he’s chasing
you are the current, and I’m the live wire sparking at your touch, each fingertip’s brush lighting up my senses
oh, how did we become the storm clouds that meet only when we’re close to our breaking points?
the deluge comes, as it does, in the hours after we reunite — always, without fail, because we are a combustion in all areas of our lives
a flyaway word builds into a funnel, and your scathing words make shrapnel fly in the face of what was once sweet and soft and warm
the hours may as well be a flood washing away the little good we have outside electric passions building — and we are red, in the danger zone, left to hunker down because we ignored all the warnings telling us to stay apart
holding you close becomes constraint
but we are wide awake, alive, lost in this mess we’ve made of ourselves
just when will this storm subside?
