This Bed

This bed, an island, our playground.
Maybe a sandbox
And all the covers sand.

A TV, like a light house,
Shines across the blanket waves of this bed.

“Go ahead, tickle me, but I bite.”

“Just don’t leave a mark,” I said.

This is my safe haven, my nest.
Your body stretches across the bed diagonally
And your foot searches,
Brushing against mine,
Then remains resting next to it in comfort.

Your legs hang over my body
Like a child hangs her legs over the end of a pier.
Your gentle rhythmic snoring
Embarrasses you, but excites me.
You are simply a human creature,
Imperfect but beautiful.
The scent of your womanhood is a repast for my nostrils,
And your soft skin a silken glove,
That my whole body wears.
Hug me, you said. And hold you I will,
Until the dawn
No longer offers the promise of the sun.