Opera in the Crystal Ball
An opera in a crystal ball is what
He should have viewed and heard and felt, yet, no,
His veins sensed only limerance and hot
Rushed serotonin. It produced that glow
Like phosphorescent joy, though not as pale
Or brief as footprints on Canaveral’s shore.
The glow spread wide and bright . . . bothersomely male,
Yes throbbing, pulsing, flesh-like from his core.
He knew that he would not recover from
The glistening poison poets have called love
Since throats affected by it found its thrum
Too potent in their ancient ages, shove
And urgency, a tightening of the heart
And then explosions, holiness apart.
~ Phillip Whidden
If you are reading this on your ‘phone, it really looks better in landscape mode.
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