Static

The air in the office was bone-dry, the kind of desert-thirst atmosphere that turned every polyester blend into a loaded weapon. Arthur felt it the moment he stood up from his desk. A faint crackle followed his movement, the invisible friction of his wool slacks against the nylon chair casting him as a human battery. He reached for the metal handle of the breakroom door. He knew what was coming. He hovered his fingertip an inch away, hesitating, but physics was impatient. Snap. A miniature bolt of blue-white lightning leaped across the gap. It wasn’t a burn; it was a sharp, indignant pinch that made his elbow jerk and his pride sting. For a split second, the invisible became visible, a tiny bridge of heat reminding him that even in a dull office, he was full of wild, unchanneled energy. It isn't just the carpet's drag, Or sweaters pulled from wire racks; It’s how we let the silence sag, Then fill the room with small attacks. In cubicles, a cold "per my last," Builds up a charge behind the eyes; The tension grows too thick, too fast, Where every civil word is lies. And in the kitchen, late at night, The "fine" that’s heavy, sharp, and dry, Prepares the air for sudden light, When sparks began to jump and fly. We rub against each other’s grain, With words unsaid and doors held shut, Until the shock, a sudden pain, Is all that’s left to clear the rut. Love is the hum in the sweater’s thread, A restless weight when we lie in bed. It isn’t a flame that burns the floor, But the sting of a hand on a metal door. It’s built in the friction of being near, In the tiny brushes of hope and fear; A quiet gathering, skin on skin, Holding the lightning bottled within. It’s an invisible pull, a magnetic art, A crackle that jumps between heart and heart. We don’t even know it has reached its peak, Until the spark hits when we kiss the cheek. It startles and bites, then it fades to the air, But we know by the heat that it’s always there— A shock in the dark, a sharp, sudden thrill, The energy left when the world goes still. magic is it magnetic static on the beam of an automatic spark station plugs stafic the matic of tragic is practic talk to random stalk to invest inventory static is merfed in the raise of my loss to main stress the math divide then subtract the radical range of the pull bang on the rage of static chaotic the same thing as psychotic rythum of the rest vliss was ir a miss you would've guessed the rate of the intro