Listening To Water

As commotion dies down,
as pulse finds peace
and electrified fingertips,
limb arches grinding,
and that light slight
cigarette scented breath
become a file
in recollection's cabinet,
the options holler still.

Three way debate club hulaballoo
hysterical happening blubbering
between my ears.

One shouting of fears,
another slithering sweet promises
stealthily into my coat pocket,
and the third one opting
dry as paper
the easy way out.

Thus they scream and shout.

While all I can hear
is the shower worshipping her skin
drops falling to her feet in awe,
just ten feet
and one door away,
while I, chained
to the oddest of modesty,
bite my knuckles sore

to know
the grains of sand colliding,
every butterfly wing's impact
that brought us here.

Commotion, is seems,
will be my companion
many days still.