Twisted Verve

The flashes, they swarm
poking here, biting there-
teasing,
taunting,
like street thugs with flair.

They smoulder, 'tis appealing;
yet they seem to burn me-
reaching,
clawing ,
like desire you want to flee.

I wander, search, grope,
my mind is stuck, slow-
wallowing,
waiting,
to embrace; to let go.

I am enjoying this; this
twisted thrill of the unknown
sizzling,
unnerving,
this morally mad zone.