The scene was set, the curtains closed,
the action – long and drawn out.
Midnight was approaching, and my joy lay open and empty,
right in front of my anticipatory face.
With slow hand, I lightly pinched the pen
between two warm fingers and one clumsy thumb.
Mindlessly, I felt my way around the wet ink’s slippery slopes,
making sexy doodles with the target close at hand.
Whispering sweet nothings into the fold between the lines,
I cautiously bit the end of the pen,
and waited for the word…any word at all.
Eventually, after what seemed to be
an excruciatingly lengthy period,
I got the word, and carefully did I jot it down.
Then oh, so smoothly, I brought the topic up
again…and again…and again.
Something told me not to stop,
not to move from that very spot.
I obediently listened to that voice from up above,
as it got louder with each and every stroke I made amply enough.
After a few easy to come by words,
more and more came as if in haste.
The scribbling picked up its pace,
as did the breathing, which was only natural.
True, my handwriting got a little messy,
but I did manage to get most of it down,
word after feverish word.
It does so happen sometimes –
situations can and do get turned around for the better.
Well, the climax to the story finally nailed me,
and the only thing left to do was to polish it up a bit.
having spent every last drop of my reserved psychic energy,
I hit the hay, resting my case.