There are ticklings
of fever
inside my being, growing
stronger,
plunging deeper,
crying out
in danger.

There are trackings
of disaster
inside my being, tracings
linger,
plunging deeper,
crying out
in pleasure.

There are tricklings
of wonder
inside my being, reaching
fingers,
plunging deeper;
I cry out,
enraptured.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 7/7/04