Magick or Illusion

We spoke of ordinary things:
Of how we hate sex with strangers.
Of how we prefer cuddling to sex.
Of how the guy you've got a crush on
Just showed up with someone else.

And yet there were non-ordinary aspects:
Your tattoos.
Your piercings.
Your leather harness.
Your appreciation of a massage adept.

You took your cocktail-fogged mind to bed
Instead of pursuing liaison
With any of the of eligible men in attendance.

Yet in the wake of your departure
I felt the echos of something:
Stirrings of something sexual
With twinges of magick.
The hairs on the back of my neck
Began to stand up and tingle.

A momentary vision of something special in the future.

Performers of stage magic
Say it's really all an illusion.
Perhaps so too with sex magick?

No, not illusion, an imagining.
A hoped-for possibility
Of communion with a kindred spirit.


	22 August 2002
	by Bill Cattey
	Notes on this poem.

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This work by William D. Cattey is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.