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

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City of Gods

This city is a peak, a trough,
a mountain, a valley,
a lifeline of light and shadow raised up
by plate tectonics. Lights spread below,
the buzzing circuit of a colossal
computer, a motherboard,
a filthy birthing pool.

Commercial, residential, industrial;
bound together by ties of desire,
rarely sated but never forgotten.
Roads and highways pulsate
with specks of light like lifeblood;
thrums of energy throb back and forth,
fuelling the pulse of the night.

In the storm there is silence, in fragments.
Up above, angels pass by, watching ominous
clouds form together and disperse.

–

Find Anton Rose at antonrose.com or on Twitter @antonjrose

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