telerotica

Humid August, mid 1980's.

Full moon companions sleep.

In bed not my own,

caretaker for neighbor,

Curtained 'neath sheers 
while naked on silk,

i lay aside window

open to sky.

Telephone disturbs slumber

and I stumble,

to silence its jangling.

A moonshine soaked, cheroot smoked

vocal growl penetrates eardrum.

Curious is he, this stranger,

as to my identity,

for it is his sister's

speaking he’s seeking.

Once again

pillow propped,

blue shadows

mimic old film projector

flickering through room.

Lunar hour's past midnight,

entering realm of perception

as heightened skin vibrations.

Aroused, another dimension's

Dreamtime made physical.

This masculine timbre

lures me gently,

probing with playful questions.

I drawl responses

as he caresses with story.

A writer, he exposes me,

to Rex, tale of The Reflex Alligator.

I counter pointedly

via banter, thrust and parry.

Edging in closer,

pausing to withdraw,

center is infiltrated.

Throaty chuckles

braille curved surfaces.

Powering this night is

ancient enchantress.

What remains unnamed

is mutual, amid

pulsing liquid discourse.

Masked dancers.

Wordplay as foreplay.

From mouth to ear,

pleasure is mined.

~March 24, 2004