The Midnight Hour

Silence permeates the night. I am alone and thoughts of dark desires swirl around me. I think of the keyboards flashing in the night. Chat rooms filled with lust that oozes into the darkness. Women searching for men. Men searching for women. Couples searching. What sorts of desires? Touching. Taunting. A woman wants more than she can ask for. She wants to be controlled. She wants to submit. A man wants to explore. How can he say what he feels? Decadence. Taboo. Dark desires. Pages shuffle. Magazines stuffed between cushions. Flesh swells and throbs. A woman lays on her pillow and her hands stray. Her flesh weeps. Dark desires. A man sees a woman in a bar. She looks. She stares. Her hungers are there for all to see. Will you come explore with me? She wants more than she can ask for. Where is the limit to my desire? Where will desires lead. Into the sun? Beneath the sky? Or behind closed doors. Dark desires.



Memories filter through. A woman recalls a boy, his flesh smooth, his body taut. She was young. She was wild. He made her feel wild. She no longer feels wild. But she wishes to. She wants to feel the power of youth. She wishes her flesh knew nothing of the carnal. She wishes to learn anew the feeling of being one with another, of being plundered and borne away on a rush of ecstasy. Where is that young boy and his desire? Are his desires dark now? Does he recall that night? The softness of the night sky above them. The richness of the earth below them. Her desires are dark now. Are his? She closes her eyes and tastes him. His body and his seed. Upon her lips she can taste it. Upon her flesh she can feel it. Inside her she burns for it. Dark desires.



The midnight hour passes and moves toward dawn. Hours left for the suffering of the flesh. Hours of night to reach for the unknown. Moments to savor his touch. Countless seconds to feel the need. Dark desires.