[9/4/07]
Goosebumps tickle,
a hollow stomach cavern forms,
from resistance to shivers,
traveling up and down and out,
head to toe.
Air conditioned dark space wide open almost empty,
and too cold for late August.
Thunder claps outside, and he sees a flash,
but rest assured, it's not lightning.
I am - lightening.
My heaviness evaporates and rises;
I would follow it up,
into the bright lights,
but shivers hold me to the floor.
Rock to the guitar's rhyme,
three melodic voices,
and an out of place "shaker."
From Cuba?
Cold shivers and music's tingle combine,
inseparable.
An arm around my shoulders -
warmth to the left, warmth to the right.
Familiar friends -
it has been too long,
a new tune in an old soothing voice,
highlights of new sweetness,
sugary touches of chorus.
The old and the new,
sweet combination of warmth and chill.
Lightning outside.
Lightning inside.
