shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

David Kenneth Braden-Johnson



As fingers fall on whiteness
Their soft strokes keyed to pleasure,
Euphonious sighs of welcome resistance
Trace lyrical curves by measure.

A honeyed voice in close embrace,
The union harmonious and true,
Arouses tangled tastes and tones
Obsidian or dove-like in hue.

Quickening pulses syncopate the aural bones
In metric heartbeats swiftly sonorous;
Enfleshed sounds seed the sustaining air
As fingers fall for us.