deepundergroundpoetry.com

Prelude

The music starts  
the crowd is hushed    
My anticipation    
Tingles envelop    
I feel flushed      
There stands my fixation    
     
Microphone pressed    
by his fingers    
He scans the darkened room    
His gaze meets mine    
slyly lingers    
Recognition I assume    
     
Racing thoughts of    
him close to me    
The touch of skin on skin    
Is De Clerambault    
reality?    
Or Eros, his ancient twin?
Written by Velvet
Published | Edited 21st Sep 2018
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