Steampunketry

Tunnel

 

A dim light bends shadows

There’s no reason to make noise

Which would be muffled anyway

Here, beneath the city

Understreeting to trystplace

Your footfalls sound tentative around the corner

But they continue

You appear out of the dark

We don’t speak

Just reach

Pull together clinching tight

Finding our way through what is suddenly excess clothing

Shedding cottons

Sliding silks slow southern descent

A first taste

Then a moment of restraint

Eyes locked into each other

Simple kisses dissolving wetly

Urgently we try to absorb each other’s skin

Finding cellular delight pressed tight

In the shadows that lie beneath

Under layers that hide your mystery

Funkymoist

Nothing locked behind us

A danger of discovery

Pleasure heightening apprehension adds to the rush

Bloodrushed heat becomes inferno bright

As you arch your back pressing up harder

Harder into softer

Urgent for that moment of completion

Exchange of self

Swallowing each other

Thirstily

While aboveground people walk from shop to shop

Sometimes stopping to take pictures of the view

A view that doesn’t scratch the surface

 

 

David Trudel    ©  2013

 

 

 

 

At the Pub

Unkempt hair cascades from bowler hat

Upon which are perched goggles

Connoting some predilection for a new conveyance

Steamered demon or deliverer

He waits as the barkeep pulls his pint

Pays up

Quaffs down

Settles onto elbows for a look round

No one of particular interest apparently

He relaxes

Enough to enjoy the moment

Calmly contented

David Trudel  © 2013

Echoes

I hunt echoes and intimations in this namesake place

Of maybes and might have beens

In bricked and mortared past

In the curiosities of the consigned

Remnants of revenants reverberate

In my imagined mystery I bend rules

Explorers plant no flags of conquest

Mapmakers erase artificial borders

Ditching nation state madness for universal rights for all

I hunt echoes and intimations of alternate realities

Where wonders are invented daily

By wild eyed inventors who live in towers

I look for a world where art is valued more than commerce

Where assimilation is a word not found in any dictionary

Where style and grace matter more than brute strength

And in this quest I briefly hear

The last fading notes of a steam whistle pulling away

David Trudel    © 2013

Steamfinder

Backlit by gaslight she vanishes

Around the corner into the fog

I calibrate gears and dials on my forearm finder

Adjust the setting to mysterious and flip the brass toggle

I’m rewarded with whirs and clicks

Clockwork hands spin wildly

Much like my heart did a few moments earlier

When she came into the bistro, looked briefly around

And then left, abruptly, without a sound

Now the finder points the way

Into crooked alleys and unmarked lanes

Where I see no winsome beauty in high buttoned boots

But I smell a faint trace of her scent in the damp air

I hasten forward

As I turn a corner I see her

Ascending a rope ladder into an airship

A hand reaches out and pulls her in

The ship shudders, swivels and moves ahead

Picking up steam

So I flip the switch and walk away

Beguiled

David Trudel  © 2013

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