Sex Drive [An original poem]
When is it too late to rock the bed like animals? A coastal drive leads to burning desires.
Parental advisory...
It’s 9pm.
I should’ve been home three hours ago.
Instead I’m curving along the cliff's edge with head in the clouds listening to the pounding sound of the radio as it allows me the time to think
To be proud
Proud that, for the first time in three years, you sent a sext.
An awkwardly angled phone dangled between the tangled flesh of your legs snapped with a sweaty unfocused iPhone
And I’m hot under the collar
To think that you’d even bother to want to get up to the hotter things we bothered with when we were wandering down the honeymoon aisles of a fresh relationship.
I’ll admit.
It took me by surprise.
Redirected my eyes from the glittering waters of the coastal line where the setting sun paints its shine across the rolling waves of an ocean that calls me to its maritime breast
Your breasts look fine
Finer than fine.
Fucking sublime.
It had been exactly three months, eighteen days, and one hour since you last let me devour your body
But who’s counting?
It had been exactly two months, three days and eighteen hours since you last kissed my throbbing... COUGH
But again, who’s counting.
It was my birthday, and those days are saved for special occasions,
A special orientation lesson that keeps a certain expectation to be pleased
But where was the passion when you were down on your knees, bobbing about like the buoys of the sea (floating buoys, not like.. boys…)
It seemed our loved had dwindled to its kindling that we could wrap up in its bindling and lock as away as simple things that we shut up on the shelf
There’s only so long a man can go when he has to go alone to take action in his hands to massage away the bone
It’s bad for mental health.
To sit alone in a computer room, staring at booties zoomed, beating a cutie tune, when your lady’s only a room away.
But now you’ve sent the invite
And boy ain’t that excite - ing.
All thoughts of Sue from work, Helen from the shop, Donna from the gym, Florence my mate’s sister, Lisa from the bar, Cara from the other bar, Fran from the other other bar,
All are erased.
And for the first time in as long as I can remember, when I think of getting down in embers, I can imagine your face.
And you are beautiful
I see it now
Bathed in the golden glow, sat in your leather throne, where we shared our Allen Poe, all those years ago.
A chair with a bare back where countless ghosts ride bareback caught in sweaty throes of nights that we won’t get back
But we could try.
We could try...
It’s uncomfortable to drive with a passenger inside the cotton lined crotch of my trousers,
I could walk through the door, embrace you jaw to jaw, strip off that lacy number and just swallow you for hours.
But then, I think what could’ve been, and it’s far too late to be
I pull a hard right
And careen into the sea.
If you liked that, why not check out my poem, 'The Hobnob Goblin' here:
https://steemit.com/writing/@kobur/the-hobnob-goblin-an-original-poem