Some dream had enthralled me
and all that remained was its shadow.
Was I lying on some Mexican beach
with the sun, super-warming my dark bathing trunks,
baking up an erection like yeast rolls in an oven?
Why was I not embarrassed?
For in fact I loved the heat and the showcased lust
of this dream scene.
Then sleep slipped away and I was awake in our bed.
Ah, you were behind this.
You couldn’t sleep,
laying there for how many of those
shapeless insomniac minutes?
Then you plotted sex on this sleeping sidekick.
Your fingers tiptoeing across my thigh
timidly wrapping around me.
Arousing but not awaking you reckoned.
Then I was like a handle in your gentle fist.
And with it you pulled me, tenderly
from the dream ether.
And the barely conscious sex that followed
was thick and slow with passion.
But what pleased me more than our body snarl
was that you knew: sex is better than sleep.
copyright 2001 scjones
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