trembling hands taste anticipation 
as the match head slides
over the rough surface
especially designed for such purposes
and a blue flame instantly appears
then effortlessly leaps
across the synapse 
from my source
agilely landing 
upon the tip
of her fuse 
and it begins its slow burn;
the sizzle snakes
growing louder
with each passing second
as the blaze sparks
and the heat increases
picking up speed,
it creeps 
toward the explosive,
and we both know 
that once it reaches
an inevitable certain point
there is no turning back

the flame burns brightly now
almost too quickly
and I cradle it with my hands
calming it, slowing it,
not wanting it to be 
satisfied so soon,
the fire turns to smoke
but it still smolders
as if to say
"I shall have my way" 
making me smile,
this dynamite knows what
she wants, 
she is persistent
and shall have her way soon,
I suspect

I lean closer
and a puff of warm breath
is all that is needed 
to rekindle the flare
and send it once again
greedily on its way 
toward its destination,
quicker now
for the interruption
has stirred impatience
and fanned desire,
when suddenly,
there is a calmness, a quiet -
the flame has given 
its first sweet caress
and the combustible,
as it drunkenly begins to 
satisfy her thirst,
inhales an inaudible, delicate sigh
for that one brief second
before the fireworks begin

we are now at
that point 
of no return

© Ocean.
11-13-96