No Multicolored Crepe-Paper Streamers Fluttering Below Air-Conditioner Vents
©Mona Arizona, March 2014
All Rights Reserved
You like me for my pole dances
And the way I fit on your lap...
The way you brush against my peaks.
Well, I sleep beneath trees, don't I?
Our day fumbles toward darkness.
Glamorously amorous, we
Don't wait for the long exposure
That will become an erotic
blur of wrestlers on ruffled sheets.
You're Eros fingering the rose,
A god with wild netherworld lust
That stirs a fire in the wetness.
I'm a temple of love waiting
For you, my octopus lover,
Wanting you to go down like the
God Cupid when he took Leda.
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