We touch shoulders in the dark
But I want more
Like a luckless down and out beggar
Rubbing his hands on his lucky stone
Desperate to make something come of it,
A boy scout with stick firmly gripped
Between his sweaty palms
Stroking with the hope he can make fire
Only I am no boy scout,
And the first I ache to make
Won’t keep me warm, but will consume me
And I don’t care, desperate to turn
This tiny smoldering bit of smoke
all my strokes have caused
for something more intense
something I can throw myself into,
a mortal sacrifice for a chance
at the immortal this touch leads to than
until we rub together so hard,
we cannot help but explode
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