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In your room
by Steve Michaelsthe bed is small but
sumptuously covered
in fine linen
marble trays hold our
wine
your hand holds
mine
ceiling fan keeps
time with my heart
as the kisses start
I don't want to
rhyme, I want
rhythm.
I want staccato verse
palpitations
maybe worse
I want to ride you like
a motorcycle,
balls to the wall
"really screwing it
on" as Hunter would
say in his forays
with the Angels.
Not to end up beaten
and bleeding on the floor
of a bar
but simply
gasping as we fill
the jar.
You keep coming back
and I succumb
your lips
your breath
your tongue
My mind wanders
in seconds
as you bring me
back to reckoning
Each ending
a new
beginning.
11/07/2010 Author's Note: It's not real.
Posted on 11/08/2010
Copyright © 2025 Steve Michaels
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 11/08/10 at 05:21 PM ...whew! glad it's not real, i's gettin' jealous of you for a while there. i believe you're trying to say something her, eh? steve. |
| Posted by Laurie Blum on 11/09/10 at 08:08 PM This one is really packing some heat! Whew! Did it suddenly get hot in here?? |
| Posted by Quinlan L Gibson on 07/12/11 at 05:53 PM This is just plain erotically awesome! You have a new fan with the sensual writes you pen :)
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| Posted by Veronica Phoenics on 12/22/13 at 01:19 PM powerfully erotic, you take us on a journey here, from the outward to the inner perception and finally into thought. |
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