by C. L. Moylan
A bass drum in constant thrum
Mimics the beat of my racing heart
And the pulse that runs through my veins
Settling in some dark, secret place
That only you can reach.
I beseech you... quench this fire
That you have started with your words.
Quiet the rushing, pulsing something
Running rampant through my being
And bring me to rest in peaceful,