A faint electric glow still clings to her
Outlining shadowed spots against the black
Permitting thoughts of things that never were
But inchoately live inside the lack
Of definition in the humming sheen
Which tingles not-quite-yellow drawing me
With shaking hands and thoughts not all unclean
Beyond the bar of my timidity
And yet not fully into open voice;
The flickering discernment it permits
Cannot quite force from me a clearcut choice
Between inaction its opposites.
Yet someday I will break through that, I know,
And bathe myself in her delicious glow.
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