The Moment of Flight

My temptation lies beneath a thin-layered gauze,
cut with sharp intensity, shearing veiled cotton,
remnant threads holding fast to my past sense of honor.
This twisted transformation of punishment for old transgressions,
still not sufficient to overcome pure pleasure's allure.

The unrestricted resistance of fingers passing over silken skin,
youthful lust of a time worn urge,
recollecting the clear image -- a bared shoulder, satin breast,
curves the text of unmatched, ageless context,
my unfettered mind runs rampant, there is no restraint.

A rush, toes griping rock's edge, then breaking free,
a journey to the waters of crystal clear, Muir lake.
The shock of cold unable to penetrate my inner most core,
gives pause to the flight from warmed air to water's entry,
Moments of seconds held closely; still vivid in tactile memory.

I now scream in the pleasure, and for the pain,
all consumed in the moment's collective force.
Returning to the surface, grasping for air,
a gut cramping groin freezes all thought.
Desire heightened further, no lingering regret.

Stilled reflections created in late summer's sun,
melting snow, to fill the lake, then heat surrounding stones,
a dichotomy in conflict to my choice's repercussions.
The granite warms my bared flesh, a cool wind chills my skin,
overpowering the fevor of my staying pleasure into rise;
to jump out, into air -- for the sake of descent.


Paris R Masek II
September, 2005