Decaffeinated Mocha Dreams

It wasn’t the aroma of the coffee
that automatically percolates at 7am
which aroused senses—

Nor was it sounds penetrating
from the alley below—
where trash cans rattle from drunks
who stagger with bent knees
trying to escape the suns watchful rays.

It was the ruffled sheets that clung around
a slender frame like a silky silhouette.
How delicate and alluring
she looked in sleep—
the innocence of each breath lifting
well rounded breast to press against cotton
as if she was offering them as a gift.

My insatiable apparition of inner wants—
screams! To feel the fabric
and what lay beneath,
my finger tips tingle with anticipation
to touch and tranquilize her like a butterfly
with wings opened wide caught in a web.

Smiling I thought
this was indeed a day to stay in bed
without coffee
and leisurely watch her dream.