Based loosely on an experience I had this weekend:
Smog and Thunder
Down the rabbit hole she goes,
Her fingers dragging over the bricks in the wall
One foot in front of the other.
The air is disorienting
Disturbing the mental flow of information
In a room full of carefully organized chaos.
The faces are kind, though the actions appear harsh
They are loving, sweet even
As sweet as the surrender that they coax from between her lips.
The scene isn’t over
This dream has just begun
The pulsation of her flesh echoes the faint beating of a human drum
In the distance
Moans of ecstasy blossom and coast along a sea of humid breath
The conversations all blur together
Was that a sympathetic remark? A sexual advance? A thwack of the tongue, a distraction perhaps.
Her muscles cannot decide whether to tense or relax.
Her blood speeds through her veins like liquid bullet juice.
Her heart pounds exquisitely.
She is invisibly bound: no object, no use.
Like some fucked up angel in a twisted funhouse,
She moves through the space, begging to make her innocence count.