©Spinning
Bed
Mona Arizona
All Rights Reserved
We tend to get carried away—
naked, you open my robe
to appreciate my nudeness,
permitting both of us
to briskly slip into intimacy,
and I'm not sure we'll recover;
I'm not sure I want to recover.
I close my mouth and speak to you in
a hundred different ways.
I sing to the man in my room —
in my nakedness —the man
who is cupping my hills to the light.
Barely an inch apart, our lips
linger and I sigh for the man
about to demand my mouth,
the man whose breath tickles
the tiny hairs near one ear.
My warm, dulcet voice whispers
words of praise and adoration
when the man before me
pulls my nakedness
into his embrace of passion
with promises of untold
pleasures. The fulcrum of
this man's throbbing heat
forces me to moan as it finds
the pulsing heart of my sex.
The substantial erection of the man
in my room tears loud and forceful
screams from my tight throat
when he throws me into the abyss.
I cry out your name,
the name
of the only man with the only cock
who is capable of making the
bed spin in my room, of orchestrating
so many melodic sounds from me.
(erotic painting by Lori Klassen)
