by Cory McClellan

Turn off the lights.
Undress with caution.
You’re wearing the electric touch of abandoned hair dryers.

Drag your feet across the carpet floor.

Hands itch with wanderlust electrons searching for a release.

Follow the sound of my voice.
Strike your fingers like matchsticks against the wall.
Feet around in the dark until you fall into bed with me.

Energy cannot be created or destroyed.
Put your ear against my chest.
I’m wearing the sharp burn of banging stones.