naegling
10-28-2005, 11:53 AM
Our bodies brush beneath a raspberry ripple sky,
breathing each others' scent of sweat and wine;
nipping and nudging under watchful eyes.
My fingertips cling to your dress like burdocks;
almost stroking skin, a mere matter of molecules
and whispered words away. Ache gives way to pain;
pressure intensifying makes my intention plain;
eager, breathless you agree. So, in separate bedrooms,
we wait. Each throbbing tick of the hall clock. Wait!
Listen for the rhythm of their sleep, then slide. My arrow
points the path to your door, but I have neither way, nor wit,
to avoid each raised creaking floorboard, damn it -
Eros, why could they not be moon, or neon, lit?
Morpheus, boot and suit me, give me a cloak to don;
cause my eyes to lase, and the wall to blaze; make
a breach through which I may float and hover over
she, gazing at my sculpted lycra lasciviously.
Now, I am monstrous, like Theseus lurking in the reeds,
a nightmare; a hairy armed ape, with thick fingered hands
tearing through brick as easily as bamboo palm huts,
to seize you - all the while screaming like Fay Wray -
and with a flick, free your flimsy folds, and flesh expose,
roaring and growling; The name's Kong, King Kong.
Another dream? I am androgynous; woman from waist up;
your lusciously full lipped, full bosomed, bosom friend who
shares your room, then, diverted from new distractions briefly,
sneaks between your sheets, to spring a surprise.
Night ends, and translucent cloud looks, as I feel,
carded by this bed of a thousand flame tipped nails,
pricking through feverish heat. Suddenly, the door slides;
in you slip and glide, a blurred form in the dawn,
lifting your slip's hem to settle astride, softly sighing;
my eyes closed; dare I pinch myself? Am I dreaming?
breathing each others' scent of sweat and wine;
nipping and nudging under watchful eyes.
My fingertips cling to your dress like burdocks;
almost stroking skin, a mere matter of molecules
and whispered words away. Ache gives way to pain;
pressure intensifying makes my intention plain;
eager, breathless you agree. So, in separate bedrooms,
we wait. Each throbbing tick of the hall clock. Wait!
Listen for the rhythm of their sleep, then slide. My arrow
points the path to your door, but I have neither way, nor wit,
to avoid each raised creaking floorboard, damn it -
Eros, why could they not be moon, or neon, lit?
Morpheus, boot and suit me, give me a cloak to don;
cause my eyes to lase, and the wall to blaze; make
a breach through which I may float and hover over
she, gazing at my sculpted lycra lasciviously.
Now, I am monstrous, like Theseus lurking in the reeds,
a nightmare; a hairy armed ape, with thick fingered hands
tearing through brick as easily as bamboo palm huts,
to seize you - all the while screaming like Fay Wray -
and with a flick, free your flimsy folds, and flesh expose,
roaring and growling; The name's Kong, King Kong.
Another dream? I am androgynous; woman from waist up;
your lusciously full lipped, full bosomed, bosom friend who
shares your room, then, diverted from new distractions briefly,
sneaks between your sheets, to spring a surprise.
Night ends, and translucent cloud looks, as I feel,
carded by this bed of a thousand flame tipped nails,
pricking through feverish heat. Suddenly, the door slides;
in you slip and glide, a blurred form in the dawn,
lifting your slip's hem to settle astride, softly sighing;
my eyes closed; dare I pinch myself? Am I dreaming?