Like So Much Light (incandescent forays)

radiance like a turnstile in a subway station changing with each revolution your face and hands on my breast the light slow and long then dim and vibrating like electricity in 1950s movies when wires touch and spark the air that fills spaces and time between. remarkably the cat rubs my leg and sparks of static, a bellow of light emitted. I, seated uncomfortably in a high back yellow arm chair that smothers my thighs that sweats my knees as I talk aloud to the night. fallow thoughts unburden my justification; arms sway honest past my denim bookends you call thighs. Around you wrapped like a fur unstained and unnoticed warm and welcome, tight, embroidered on your hips and back; prickly 3-days of stubble ignite sparks but only in my head and in the night that is so rarely noticed these days. where Native Americans in tepees turn sticks inside

their palms, masturbating the wooden points embed themselves with lust and fury, turning turning past the one side then the other and circles heaved into space when shadows fleck apart and orange dewdrops, sparks of fire fall up, spurt, let loose, free to meet the brush below for the sake of mush and the history that follows.