He had climbed through the dark,
Shrouded in Gondolier garbs.
Seeking an escape from the night’s heat.
The burn of his desire.
He was observed, but nobody asks questions at Carnivale,
Especially when found in the wrong place, at the wrong time.
Now, at sunrise, somewhere beneath him she lay.
Hours before, he had lain beneath her-
Deep within the soft curve of his Gondola’s keel.
Adding their own rise and fall to the canal.
Sussurations masked by lapping waves,
En route to a palace, he had moored in shadows.
She had never removed her mask,
Glittering eyes and velvet lips his only chance at recognition.
Not even a voice- her destination was written. Unspoken.
Yet she would know him, and even now with an upward glance
Might glance his form. Ah, an upward stretch.
Her neck arched and head thrown back,
At their pinnacle.
No, there was no rest. No respite. No
release for him here.
Their congress was everywhere.
Between throbbing orbs, plunging bell ropes
Thumped in syncopation with his captive heart.
© Tom Tide 2016