The Dark Room

Next time you're lying in the darkness
Imagine that I’m standing in the room.
You know I’m suited, sweaty, tired, hungry.
You calibrate my hardness in the gloom.
 
You turn onto your front as instructed,          
Then lift your hips and push into the bed,
Edge your knees apart so that you’re open,
You think of fingers massaging your head.
 
You sense my breath dancing with instruction,
You touch yourself as told. You know you’re wet.      
You feel the sheet pulled quickly from behind  
Then tense a bit not knowing what you’ll get,
 
Whether it will make you fly with angels
Or whether it will make you shriek in pain.
Wonder if my tongue will match your fingers      
As honeyed words re-penetrate your brain.
 
They rush round inside your head like water
Parted by a strong and dexterous hand.
Feel the pressure as they start to fill you,
As you press back, to show you understand.      
 
You try and hold everything within you,
Or tense to push me out, to make me quit,
Once again your fingers have betrayed you
As they play repetitious on your clit.
 
Rhythms of the words build ostinato,                  
Your lips and breath and heart join the attack.
You must finish what the words have started
So twist yourself, till lying on your back
 
You push something solid deep inside you,
You’re biting on your lip to ease the pain,      
Until at last something yields within you.
The levee breaks. The river starts to drain.
 
Elsewhere, you know I am standing in a room,
Suited and hungry, listening to the rain,
I feel the room throbbing to my hardness.            
You know I need to fill you up again.