Magnetic (2013)
- Dec 2, 2013
- 1 min read
There was nothing strikingly special
about her. Her hair
a flat brown. Her clothes
a dull gray. Her face
a pale pink. No,
there was nothing really striking
about her. Except
perhaps
her headphones. They were
pulsating, dated. The beat
encased her attention. Her jaw
locked tight in
an everlasting hum, a concentration more intense than
perhaps
the magnesium oxide fireworks
in her fingertips. She was
sparkling, radiating, despite her
dull swagger, she conducted
energy and light. She was
alive in her own chemical explosion.
I followed the pop sizzle bang in her step down the hall,
Beethoven or Bach? Perhaps
indie rock of metal? Perhaps
the soul in her ticking music box encased
by her ribcage
perhaps
would simply erupt
into a resilient beacon of song, of dance
of life
of gyrating hips and vibrating lips
of eighth notes of quarter notes
caressing her face, reaching her magnetic
fingers out to
envelop me
attack me
assault me
consume me in harmony in melody
allow me to flow into her private world
and lay us down
on the gentle buzz of her secret
paradise.
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