Tomorrow's Poem

Close your notebook.
Put down your pen.
Leave the keyboard.
Let the monitor go to sleep
and come to bed.
You write like you love,
in bursts of images
and spontaneous feelings,
recounting what you do to me.
Writing on my neck with your teeth
not because it makes your teeth feel good,
but my every jump, jerk, moan and cry
fuels your passion,
taking your pleasure from mine,
each word scratched on my back,
every line wrapped around my hips
like your legs.
Your lips, tongue and fingers learn me
new every night, while your mind
scours me for new words to tell it.
Reading with your fingers,
each touch, a line composed
of our meter and rhyme
knowing my taste, touch and smell
will be tomorrow’s poem.
Come to bed now,
for fresh inspiration, and
collect some new material.