When we return home
From our long days
And we're both tired.
I want to cry
About my co-workers,
And you,
About your boss.
You volunteer yourself to
Pound at my body,
Not to break my bones,
But to heal my spirit.
Because you know
This is what
I need.
So you place a hand on
My thigh
And drape me
Across our sofa.
Your fingers tickle me
In some very deep
Places,
So well that
My knees shake and
My back arches into a
Rainbow of pleasures--
Each colour a new form of
Ecstasy.
And my pot of gold is
So rich with treasures,
You keep returning
For more.
And I'll always be ready
With more to give
As long as you always
Come home
To me.
YOU ARE READING
I Am Everything
PoetryExcerpt: "I am everything: The autumn winds easing the leaves away from their branches, A baby's smile at daddy's funny face, The tears that seep into the soil at a funeral, A heavy snowfall on Christmas Eve. I am a hug: Offered only during t...
