Long Past Midnight

Following funny fingers,
flickering by infatuated flesh.
She finds comfort in embraces
long past midnight.

Flight,
into gentle arms
laden free of troubled past.
What will last?

Only afraid of
what might come next.

Foreign bodies feeling out
the space between.
It’s a vitruvian dream
of perfection.

Understanding these things
that happen past midnight.

Work nights blown,
caution to the wind
meeting a gentle friend,
an hour past pumpkin time.

Searching for the divine,
a trip into the unexpected.
Journey into darkness,
into a felt bliss,
another carrier of consciousness.

It’s all in the wrist,
and the hips,
feminine fingertips.

A look from pale blue eyes
makes me blush,
a rush
of fluid to waiting capillaries.

It’s really quite scary
to look into a strangers eyes,
lose my disguise
to unarming grace.

The world love is a waste
in the presence of such a feeling.

I’m still reeling,
and it’s been a day,
truly afflicted.

Smitten,
some would say.

No roll in the hay
could provide such power.

A precious flower
in a patch of daisies.
Subtle movements amaze me,
even ratted hair drives me crazy.

How is it she phases me?

Archie Underwood
5/1/2009