Crawl Space

A dull, fractured thump

is heard.

The curtain wavers, ruffled by a zephyr

shot through with electricity.

tension.

Voices with strands of 

a furtive excitement

speak quickly,

hushedly.

Lights flicker,

then fade.

The voices dissipate.

A moment of blackness

before the red drapes part

and a light

warms your face.

Your face is warm,

your hands restless,

feet relying

on muscle memory

to propel you into place.

But your back is straight -

the breeze has stilled

and it waits;

expectant.

Trusting.

I hold my breath as you take in yours.

With the sound of your voice 

my arms and the back of my neck

crawl

with the tingled shiver

of beautiful refrains,

of misty sunrises.

Your voice grows louder,

grows strong

and passionate.

You hook my heart up with

yours,

beating faster 

and faster, and,

in a pinnacle,

stopping

short.

I climb the ladders;

I know each portal; 

I recall the hours;

yet the magic is no less diminished 

in my eyes

than if I was 

immersed 

for the first time.