How an untidy room
Is a blessing sometimes. How my mind
Seems to be disarranged these days.
They say a person’s desk,
Is an indication of what they are like, on the inside.
I suffer from panic, the type that races the heartbeat,
In flight and fright, and that is what symbolizes me,
A man, so impulsive, so living
In the carpe diem, of transcending
The yester-moment. How my wife and I,
Live in this impulsive world
The lunges, the squeezes, the kisses,
And genies she lets loose, when she unzips her frock,
How she grants me wishes,
How fairytales are still valid in the bedroom,
In a world that treats love with scant respect.
Love, that doesn’t ask reasons,
Only what the needs of the moment are,
The lust of seeing my wife naked
And the tickets she issues,
How a kiss spans lips,
How the bodies drift like icebergs,
How they meet at a center plain,
The kinetics of pleasure,
That will lapse to an echo of bliss.
My desk that gets tidied in an instant,
How clutter falls to the ground,
When I fling my arms in one choreographed move,
As I throw everything out.
And I lay my wife’s bottom, on the desktop.
As we become our own missionaries,
Singing Kumbaya my lord,
“God, come by here”.