Mamamontezz's Mental Rumpus Room

Sunday

Mmmm... Sunday.
I've just emerged from the warm cocoon
of jersey sheets and cotton blanket
that sits in the middle of my darkened room.

It's Sunday,
and I lay there, languid and lazy,
for the longest time,
feeling the tease of the air conditioner across me.
I enjoy its cool caresses after
the warm pleasure of a bed,
or the warmer pleasure of a touch,
a feel,
a kiss that's delicate yet insistant,
even those that existed only to fill a dream
too intense for memory to contain.
I don't remember,
but the body does
with every nerve, every fiber,
and the cool fingers of the air conditioner
do their best to keep the sensations alive
for just a little longer,
just a moment more.
Dreams given like unexpected gifts
and filled with deep tones,
and quiet words.
Clandestine whispers,
jagged breathing,
quiet cries,
sweet and hard release,
but the dreams hide themselves for now
and tease with gauzy seconds
stopped in time,
luscious seconds of dark tenderness.