Lust in the Time of Quarantine

Hugs ain’t free anymore
in a virus laden world
where even casual sex
could cause a casualty.
But that pleasure zone
in my brain heeds not
to reason ,demanding
an itch scratched, brazen
tickles, and pyrotechnics .

And my memories do
their best to oblige
remembering engaging
in small talk at the all night
diner till eyes spoke
larger volumes of sweet
intention and we drove
from a public place
to a private oasis.

Clumsy I was tripping over
pants like an imp wrestling
off clothes at bath time,
paling to the elegance
of your fingers unbuttoning
your floral blouse like a web
spinning spider before
unsnapping jeans the color
of a hopeful sky at dawn.

In order to dig deeper
I try to shovel to the side
all the falling dung
of the reckless and vain
on the news and concentrate.
Your black Chantilly lace
bra and panties got my heart
bebopping like a possessed
jazzman blowing a sax solo.

The lingerie falls off curves
like a soft drizzle cascading
down rose petals with nipples
plumping as boysenberries
ripening in the summer .
We wrap our naked bodies
around each other , casting
away inhibitions till the room
glows like the Fourth of July.

The clock hits midnight.
I think of opening a window
to let out some of the heat
but my libido’s rolling
like a runaway train till
the diesel dies at twelve
and two minutes and I’m like,
WTF, am I to do with the rest
of this enchanted evening.