Waiting I

Waiting I kept thinking of one crystal-black
smoky drop of the oil held to the light on
     one soft fingertip
then touched down like a kiss to the salty
     small tongue, the fuse,
the tip of the red world, trembling berry
and in moments I am shaking
on the desperate edge, hungry so
     hungry my body
breaks, taut in electric arcs, red current
     shocks and I try
sliding one slick fingertip in
where he likes to be skin to skin
and in sliding is friction in friction catch fire and
     in arcing beat the flame to
a rage and in sliding, explode, in sliding, explode