you lie on the bed
sprawled out after a shower
under the ceiling fan
like the vision of an oasis in
the Mojave on a hundred degree
day in the shade
every hill and valley calls the eye
for a deeper probe

the back near the spine
is like a runway deck for aerial maneuvers
you lie on stomach and breasts
with little self-talk snorting snores
so tired from missing days of sleep
my hands dig into the firm muscles for a massage
you groan saying more more

pulling the toes and thumbing heels
pressing the arches with the sides
of my karate-chop side palms
pinching the calves climbing up the
back of the legs, the thighs, the buttocks
kneading out the kinks but putting them
into me. You beg, no holes barred the

slow-burn tantra-like sutras, the lion sires
but then the lips mouth to mouth
swapping saliva the dance of tongues
up to that point you as El Dorado discovered
like sashaying into ShangriLa with
mother of pearl
doorways
or like the discovery of
the pharaohs burial vault with frescoes
of 4000 year old hieroglyphs in bright
colors - The frisson of you
up to that point like Cleopatra
unrolled nude in a golden carpet
as a gift for a king's libido

but the poor zombie kiss
from you fell flat like a broken
doorknob clatters to the floor
not entering the golden room
of the heart







7/26/2022
© Brian Peter Hodgkinson