Slumber subsides,
Giving way to thoughts of you.
Are they dream carryovers?
The continuation of a unconscious play
Fighting its way into the living world?
Who cares?
The show must go on.
I, sitting on a couch,
Hold you sitting on my lap,
Your legs thrown sideways
With your arms around my neck.
The fingers of my left hand
Glide up your leg
Past the opening of a flower print dress
To the dripping of a pedal.
I toy
As smiles and smirks pass,
And loving eyes gaze deeply into each other.
A lower lip quivers as heartbeats quicken.
My right hand disappears momentarily
Until a handful of hair intertwines fingers.
A sharp tug releases a moan
And fingers enter the stream.
Biting on your neck
I search for the artery
Feeling the blood pump with my tongue.
The show should go on,
But the time isn’t right.
The passion burns within
Pulsing around knuckles
And squeezed against the rings.
My ears long for the shrieks,
But children wander the halls
And neighbors are not home.
I want to hear you howl at the moon
Until the night gives way to day.
Fingers return to shore and my right hand moves
To the back of your neck.
You taste the sweet ocean
Until I pull you in to pass it on to me.
Your head moves to my shoulder
And the fire gives way to love.
My fingers interlock
Squeezing you close to my body.
Hearts beat rhythmically
In tune with the universe.
Smiles… genuine, deep, and sincere…
Rest upon our faces
As the desire sustains us
Until the screams can be released.
This show will go on,
And it shall never be matched.
-SMW-
Shaun M. Wilkinson 