Foolish Pride

My burning desire escalates…
a volcanic eruption of aching emotion;
an all-consuming fire
enraptured, captured in the essence
of the memories of your face.

Now, cerise flames flicker,
empathetic embers bleed,
casting a dying orange glow
upon the cold, wooden floor.

Shadows—like shape-shifting specters
writhe, wriggle and dance.
Perfectly pirouetting portrayals
of pure pain.

A cacophonous sarcophagus
of never ending concupiscence
echoes with the silken sultry softness
of your sweet voice.

Amorphous angels
sing mellifluous lullabies
in alleyways, near trash bins,
swathed in sordid, satin shawls,
then sit silently, in splendid surrender
amazed at the sound of their own voices.

I had you for one fleeting moment,
held you in my arms,
tasted your deepest, darkest desires.

Maybe I drank too deeply,
too much.
swallowed too fast…

When, perhaps, what I
should have been swallowing
was my own foolish pride.

**This poem was written as part of a dual challenge between Greg Tucker and myself.
I told him that if he wrote a spooky sonnet—which he did, and quite well, I might add—I would, in turn, try to write a romantic contemporary free verse poem.
Well, Greg...this is about as "romantic" as I get, my friend.
Thanks for reading...**