As the world slows to embrace the night,
and the sizzling sunset slips
into the moist depths of mother earth,
Desire enters the room.
Partnered with the cooling breeze,
lace curtains perform
a seductive spotlight dance
in the glow from the streetlamp;
watching their performance
I become aware of a
growing sensation of need
spreading tendrils of temptation
through my nerve endings.
Aretha echoes from
the neighbors’ open window
“I’ve got a deeper love inside …”
while fingers of want
thrust into my welcoming mind.
Imagination and body heat
become willing partners
in a dreamscape of titillation
as my hand moves
ever
so
slightly
down,
descending,
reaching,
gliding
toward
my center.
What is reality?
What is imagination?
The hunger drives the dream
as I struggle to hold
Desire’s image in my head
and my need in my palm.
Urgency replaces the slow massage
as wetness lubricates fingertips
searching for
the climatic release
that ebbs and flows
within mind
and body.
Even the breeze seems to
hang in breathless anticipation
of the coming culmination.
Faster,
deeper,
I reach for more
than the physical orgasm
in the darkening room.
Satisfaction is the goal
and it is ultimately
found,
inside,
where it always waited.