I DON'T CARE IF MY BOT SHOULD SHOW

I warn you - off us bedclothes may fall  
as we twist, writhe, kick to desire's call.  
Sheets, blankets, may slip off in extreme  
for real, as in erotic dream.  
When eyes, hands, hearts are for each other,  
who cares about the lack of cover,
when only Man in the Moon could see
what his light casts, upon each body,
as it shines through the window this night,
when we're storeys past man in street height?
 
Tonight that moon's going to be full,
so, to its light, off our clothes we'll pull.
Undrawn we will let the curtains stay
as we get to have our wicked way.
We will get under the sheets first to warm,
as upon each other we perform
cunnilingus and fellatio,
You get to taste how my meat can grow.
but as passion builds up in its throes,
It will become "everything goes".
 
However well made the bed at morn,
apart from the mattress bedclothes get torn
as position changes to face-to-face,
And loins meet at equivalent place.
I don't care if my bare bot should show  
on top of you, as we strive to know  
each other in that 'Biblical sense',  
glowing in passionate radiance.  
When the skin is warm and blood run hot,  
night won't feel so cold upon my bot.  
 
You'll be getting hot and sweaty, too.  
Don't stop to pull the sheets back on you
when we're past the point I can withdraw  
from the rhythmically contracting core -  
until we have come, passions sated,  
skins cooled and erections abated.  
In meantime on my butt you can grip,  
as inside and out of you I slip,  
or twist your legs around my back's small,
restraining our bodies' rise and fall.
 
All that, my body to yours can give.  
We live to ride, and we ride to live.  
If you dig your nails into my back,  
then the sheets get spared a dark red track  
made by any blood of mine you release,  
So let them lie on the floor in peace
while we're in action upon the bed
at our most passionate, and naked.  
Thus you get your 'bit of up and down',  
courtesy of your 'man about town'.