Listening to Hot Lovers*
In the coolness of the morning, there is quiet.
From every corner, from all the halls.
A sound foundation, for another heated day,
Listening to hot lovers, through the walls.
The low, wet, humming moans will mark the wakening.
Sometimes for minutes, sometimes for hours.
The wildest liaisons go on with, little games,
Like long, running, showers . . .
The brightness of the sky, the blowing wind,
across the carpets where they lie and re-begin
are wings that carry, cries into the din,
of love, of love, of love, of love again.
The trains, the planes, the cars and trucks go by.
Couples come and go, left and right.
The lucky ones are here still, trying to fly,
and might just even make it, by tonight.
Feel the rumbling of the floorboards, as the shuttle shakes the city,
and the sigh of satisfaction as it comes.
Let the time be filled, with people hard and pretty.
Another show, in love's emporiums.
W. C. Wampler
[ Last Word, Refocused, Everything + Nothing, Listening To Hot Lovers, A Blink, Timeless Writ ]