Love in a Predawn Thunderstorm

She had premonition of this night.
In it, she injected undiluted love in his vein.

The muted TV glazes
the bedroom walls with prisms.

Lightning dissects the mirror.
Thunder rumbles in muscles.

She orbits his breast with her teeth,
breaks the glassy sleep encasing his body.

Breathing rain, she kisses his finger, knees.
A moth beats the windowpane between her thighs.

©2005 by Clare L. Martin

                                                                                                                                                                                               

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Clare L. Martin is an old married woman. For her, experience is poetry and poetry is experience.