Poem

I've been writing pretty seriously for quite awhile now, I started during a workshop class when I was 18 (I'm 26 now) at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte taught by Christopher Davis.  Davis is a brillant poet and ever since then I've found that writing poetry has really become an important part of my life.  With all the work I'm doing lately its hard to find time to write but last night I woke up from sleep and just had to write something about a dream I had.  Normally I don't like to put poems online because of the legal grey areas when it comes to publication and such but I feel like sharing this since the blog is new and since its a draft and hasn't been titled yet.  Hope you enjoy, Joe.

The patter of rain against concrete walls, scarred faces of cinder block like piano keys strewn about a bombed out opera house and undulating cheers of smoldering sex and violence raising up over the keystone horizons echoing between our leather jacketed bodies and the distant puffs of smoke penetrated by clusters of city spot lights our hands tightly grasping one another alive with a faint warmth and the buzzing hum of a deep, human vibration in tune with our lustful heart beats, timpani rolling thunder in the alley below and teeth gnashing from within my throbbing skull, bone on flesh, flesh of sugar white breast their bulging intensity punctuated by deep crimson areola and thick erect nipples and above the din the steady rise of your aching and the subtle sounds of rain against my scarred soul.