The Hot Place

Room upstairs clinking lace of mirror
Two portals do pour iron guard
Into the clamor wet reeling
Backdrop window
Of the outside

Simple seat of nothing too common
Toe point usage in discretion
One strand a thread
Of thought completion
Red circle my
Blue spiral

Holding vapour of moisture leaning
Slope of pelvis on the cushion
Darkened lenses of the moon
Does increase the
Cross leg

Present dilation of subtle illusion
Not doubting the sense bared wrist of smooth

Quick breath
Don’t move

Locked in a second, two, three, four
Slow vortex of optical rapture
Dialog passes in light
Sucking past layers
I tingle

Linear points align to make impact taken
Black covered paper grey bind the way
Contemplation and reception real
Level of wood below your center
Leave me in posture
Of proposal

L. King 9/02