The fizz, the ghostly drag
invisible hands guiding these wanton bodies
I feel my compass spin
drawn in endless circles

Can I claim it as the artist’s curse
the love for new adventure
the pleasure of magnetic hearts
freshly spinning so close to us
whipping the iron filings of our creativity
into some explosive blur
a manifest black energy

But is it a curse at all
the thrill of the compass spin
happily getting lost
drawn off course by that force

Now we have found our path
a map printed within
the passionate kiss on a midnight train
now the road is clear and brightly lit
your hand held softly, out of sight

This electricity is perfectly addictive
the nuclear blast of new attraction
Hyper-sensitive, hyper-aware
of those fields that swim in you

The thrill of the compass spin
so confusing, so all-consuming
and fizzing on my tongue
I want it here
I want you
fizzing on my tongue again…

(Feb, 2015)