The Sound of a Skirt

falling is an earthquake
of anticipation, silence. Silk,
like an avalanche, consumes the room
in suffocating embrace. Words give way
to flesh. Touch becomes
language of stuttering
midnight. Motion ignites. Two bodies
whine as this fabricated flag
and all inhibitions hit the floor. Contact,
consumption, and eruption are inevitable
as dawn and the sex-
stained tendrils of smoke that temper its mood.

–

A.J Huffman is founding editor of Kind of a Hurricane Press: www.kindofahurricanepress.com