Spark: A Poem About the Beginning of an Affair

The afternoon the walls fell, I walked into you:
Sure my crush had fallen out onto the floor.
Sure all was spilled, and running down my skirt. Splattered onto your shirt.

But clean up was tasty.
As I bent, you lent your eyes the moment to take me,
and I realized your crush had fallen as well.

The employee hall shattered with outside voices, and the stream was broken;
our gazes shifted to approaching congregations.
Corporates amongst daily communications.

I could breathe again,
the moment had ended,
and softly, easily, your grasp on me loosened.

What comment did you make? That smile.
Now, too late after the fact. I am still speechless and tingling.
Taken aback by your bold ingenuity.

My mind clutters, musings of the day.
My senses irrational, focus only on your hand
somewhere on my body.

Thoughtless, spaceless, timeless, breathless.
Affections often wasted.

Now our offices flow with the arctic white of tubular lights, adjoining fantasies from through the door.
I can't help but picture us, wet with our aspirations, naked on the floor.
Those things we've talked about so many times before.

Where is 'perfection' now? Packing, sorting, cooking, dressing, driving?
Boring.

Forgive me my whoring thoughts.
It's just that smile beneath stark hum-drum.
The knowing tone in your whispered conjecture.

I am forsaken, my solid morality shaken.
I can not overcome these simplest of desires,
and the ferality of this temptation.

I am random when you come near me, lost in the ticking of seconds;
the lists, the yes and no lists,
shifting, searching to find anything but your body next to mine.

Where did the bosses go now? They've left us alone again.
Feeling, hoping, touching, sensing, gently groping.

What dreams are these? Lying in wait... this need for attention, happiness, immediate gratification,
attempting that which is obvious;
blatantly innate.

Ah, but ours is a worser fate.

And where did yor hand, your fingers go? Suddenly I am flushed, I've known this sensation only few times before.
You've found your spot, softly, easily. Do I want you to stop?
"No, of course. More."

A humid day swarms, fades, not easily forgotten. Outside the trees are still in the stagnant heat of summer.
Sweat slides down your chin, and we are glistening in the sunlight, unaware within our ravishings.
Having found our redemption in merely breath and skin.

It takes time to please. But there is no time.
All is hurried and undaunted. Rushed, speechless, confusing, thrilling and haunted.

And holds an ultimatum.

In the afterglow of electronic satisfaction, and dreamy, steamy incilnation, I will not give in.
Damn my morals! Damn this sin!

Did I really think this could be? Of course not. A crush is just a crush,
these dreams are left dreams, mere products of our irrationality.
(but kiss me again; lets just see...)