This one confuses me a little but I do get a little tingly when I read it. I think it's about a woman waitin' for her man during a storm to stop workin' and come play with her...to make someone stop whatever they are doin' when they walk into the room, to just stop and stare, crave, and have to satisfy a hunger just upon sight.
Here's some more erotic poetry:
“Hum for the Bolt” by Jamaal May
It could of course be silk. Fifty yards or so
of the next closest thing to water to the touch,
or it could just as easily be a shaft of wood
crumpling a man struck between spaulder and helm.
But now, with the rain making a noisy erasure
of this town, it is the flash that arrives
and leaves at nearly the same moment. It’s what I want
to be in this moment, in this doorway,
because much as I’d love to be the silk-shimmer
against the curve of anyone’s arm,
as brutal and impeccable as it’d be to soar
from a crossbow with a whistle and have a man
switch off upon my arrival, it is nothing
compared to that moment when I eat the dark,
draw shadows in quick strokes across wall
and start a tongue counting
down to thunder. That counting that says,
I am this far. I am this close.
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