Eros Inner

Take the serious
serious. The rain
wearies us. A dry
face looks around,
lets lightning brash
into the place inside
where sparks reign. 

Each look crooks 
the elbow and wanders
far off to wonder:
will those eyes be those eyes?
Will I be prepositioned 
invisibly? The brick
backdrops our wishes 
and our fires.

The impulse indulged
sans fulmination
does not dose idiomatic
by hidden aspiration
aspirated by the tonnage
of cloth that frontages,
sits on top.