Emma Clowsley


My palms sizzle with anticipation
As your hand reaches down your thigh and stops at the top of your knee,
I want it to reach into me and
palm to palm make heat into connection.

Your shoulder brushes and ignites mine,
As you retrieve your plastic cup of wine from beneath your chair.
You reclaim your position, and our arms find each other
For just a second.

My skin tingles and burns as if prickled by nettles
Hands begin to steam like water boiling from a kettle.
My cheeks crimson red, as blood rushes to my head,
From my heart down to my feet – I am on fire.

Resplendent in warm embrace, where fingers intertwined,
Minds joined, fused with thoughts of lust.

I can feel heat radiating from your body,
Like I'm absorbing the sun's rays,
The little hairs on my arms are alert,
As if under attack.

Finally, your palm touches mine
And the world explodes into fragmented time.
Sparks fly frivolously, bursting into flame,
I wonder if you are feeling the same.

Chemistry, rising like mercury
As we mould into this glass tube.
Too hot to read the temperature of the room. 

Flights, Issue Seven, December 2022