In savage, human delight,
she begins the dance.
Flexes and quivers,
feels, and is felt,
with brutal sensitivity…

(In every core is a need
to feel pure love,
to wonder upon
soul-splicing.)

Her pulse pounds
in her wrists, emitting
a signal to dated fate;
and it’s answered!
With sensitive force…

(Our lives are spent
searching and seething,
condoning mind-sets
of soul-splitting.)

Her hand, combined, reaches
for a pen, shuddering,
writhes and writes
upon the soul of the world.
With sensitive pressure…

(To free our minds,
we must become we,
putting aside selfishness
of soul-stealing.)

In orgasmic, human delight,
she finishes the dance.
Sighs and stretches,
feels, and has been felt,
with passionate sensitivity.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 7/28/04