Amsterdam

His hand on bare back sparks nerves
I thought they’d burnt out. Raw impulse, they surface,
Electric, a quick outtake of breath slows it, remember
How it feels, Numb.
It can’t awaken, just imagine
what could happen. That stops it dead
as one fibre, central, won’t conduct thoughts.
It drummed too many times, when that first flame ignited,
Over two years ago.

Would it smart like I remember, hurtful?
Radiating warmth, the start. Glances.
Hot breath, words about meeting, lady luck.
How then, in the end did she stab me with anger?
Sharp silences before words tumbled,
then your cold dark laugh knelled out, quenching.
You cared so little, where I thought you loved.

Now, Amsterdam - water conducts, where maybe I can’t.
Will it heal, or jump-start, amplify hope?
Already it begins, with sparks and poems,
Feelings grow. Ripples, the stone of thoughts thrown,
His fingers remind me you can’t stop it.
no matter how dead, burnt, black, nature will conquer
reassuring, in one way, another terrifying,
in a shock of tingling fire like this one.