flesh
c. 2001, Miriam M. Wynntaut, stretching, grazed
by the breath, the eye, the seeking lens,
the world surround a trembling bubble,
the fog in the room a desire palpable;corpuscles, veins, tiny cells
receive and send electrical signals
searing through the receptive
tastebud, fingertip, tender retina;this body, in stasis, hurled outward and
frozen in a moment of extremis
is waiting for a touch, a scan, a pressure,
a piercing of the veil, the bubble to expand;explosion is imminent, yet ever delayed;
that anticipation making each nerve ending fraught
with a tension near to madness,
an apprehension that is all;the grip and rape of commanding eyes
heightens the level of electric current;
the nipples strain for some greeting,
the follicles stir for a single tug;flesh is waiting, wanting, begging for something,
unable to receive and yet is the reception,
moves from the vessel, becomes the void itself,
yearning for a touch, for flesh to touch flesh.