The Silent Crackle of Static Electricity

On clothes spread out, between wool and silk,
an invisible tension resides.
It has no audible voice, it knows no pain,
but a tremor that barely brushes the fabric.
It is the promise of a flash, a snatched moment,
a cold kiss, unexpected and fleeting.

It accumulates patiently, without haste,
between one gesture and another, a distracted caress.
It is not air sighing, nor dust that dances,
but a subtle weave, without substance.
It waits for the bridge, the point, the fragile boundary,
the minimal break, its final instant.

And then, a jolt, a teasing deception,
a dry whisper that dissolves the strain.
A brief discharge, almost without sound,
that restores order, without a thunderclap.
And balance returns, the veil intact,
until the next, invisible contact.