notMetaphor Poetry sweat


I want to sweat

like sex falls through music.

Let me dance

until my feet bleed

as rivers that feed

the thin ribbon of emptiness

found between my soul and heart.


Let me prick

at the scar that seals my passion.

Leech its barriers clean

with the beating of the floor

as I strike down,

enthralled by rhythm.

Let me empty

my spirit of poison.

Open my veins and cleanse

the shards once buttressed

by your memory.


Let me burn away sorrow

in the heat of rekindled fire.

Twist amongst the dancing;

sweat like sex falls through music.