Transfuse Me Poem by Tom Hamilton

I can tell you that darkness is not overrated.

Neither with its shadows, nor its sullen protection.

The dastardly defection of deflected glows can't grow.

Maize halos are afraid of such a hated acquaintance.

In kinetic patterns of light freckled dance

a glow holds at the fold of your wintery shoulders.

Guarding your chastity like a snow furred wolverine.
Down through the nectar mountains past the gulf of your stomach, 

The sweet headache briar woods, the untouched southern comfort.

Infecting every man and lad susceptible to beams

with your beautiful disease.

Lay me in the middle of an alien street.

Hit me with a light so strong that it washes me.

Bleach the black away with the tender white smile

shining from your eyes as pure oscillating beams. 

Dream me to the core of your florescent plaid schemes.

Let me be the wheels and pulleys of your muscles.
The copper blood rushing through your blushing structure

Not harsh or controlling, just a soft voice and cajoling: 

Ms. do you mind, if you would, could you please

Transfuse me.

I can tell you that tincture is not always tattered.

That it matters when we crack each tile of light.

If I could put the night in a washing machine.

Instead of wearing a darkness, so wet, tight and dirty.
that I blend to silver photos of old motel Autumns,
askew on the wall of some whiskey shy dance hall

where you pass laughing innocently

without even seeing me.