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Keep your pace
as black velvet covers,
caresses your skin;
fingers of the wind.
Your hands stretch out;
searching, twisting,
desperately hoping…
The silence pounds.
Fantasies blur to grey,
as lights suddenly strobe,
head aches, ears reach out
to the pounding drum.
Stressing, straining
to peel back the black.
Is there anything worth seeing?
Bass reverberates
bringing a roar of sound
smell and the constant
longing;
hands stretch out…
If only she were closer
maybe you could catch her,
test the snare and measure
your beat to her rhythm.
All those hands are good for is stretching.