Whirling, swirling
Your bed is a vortex of blankets and your smell. A swirling mass of sweat-tinged dreams and endorphin-induced sleep.
Your bed contains a carbon copy of each instance of love made. It echos the ambrosial first accounts of intimate histories shared and the feeling of my nook at 2am. Arm to stomach, lips to shoulder, palm to cheek, legs entwined.
Your bed is where you first said "be mine". It is naps, noches and good morning good-bye kisses. It is where I learned the definition of "passion", "pleasure", "love" and found myself speechless after each.
Your bed is where I found mi amor, my baby. It is where I learned what it meant to physically yearn for something, someone, that the realization of that desire has a euphoric effect. It is my drug.
So how could one ask me to get up from this cotton parallelogram?
Why would I want to pry its welcome claws from my flesh?
How could I leave, when I could still extricate bits of heat from your side of it?
Your bed is a vortex of blankets and your smell that envelop my whole being...or do I thrust myself into its core? It begs me to tarry, wraps me up, pulls me down, foils my insincere efforts to egress and I ask it to want me more.
The sentient nature of this unsuspecting seductor makes for perpetually late mornings but unforgetable evenings.
Your bed contains a carbon copy of each instance of love made. It echos the ambrosial first accounts of intimate histories shared and the feeling of my nook at 2am. Arm to stomach, lips to shoulder, palm to cheek, legs entwined.
Your bed is where you first said "be mine". It is naps, noches and good morning good-bye kisses. It is where I learned the definition of "passion", "pleasure", "love" and found myself speechless after each.
Your bed is where I found mi amor, my baby. It is where I learned what it meant to physically yearn for something, someone, that the realization of that desire has a euphoric effect. It is my drug.
So how could one ask me to get up from this cotton parallelogram?
Why would I want to pry its welcome claws from my flesh?
How could I leave, when I could still extricate bits of heat from your side of it?
Your bed is a vortex of blankets and your smell that envelop my whole being...or do I thrust myself into its core? It begs me to tarry, wraps me up, pulls me down, foils my insincere efforts to egress and I ask it to want me more.
The sentient nature of this unsuspecting seductor makes for perpetually late mornings but unforgetable evenings.