I sit on the edge of bed
Facing a mirror upheld
A carousel of turning damsels
Twist and turn their tiny torsos.
In my mind’s unseeing eye
I reach into that turning sphere
A small hand slides into mine
With a gentle tug I draw her near.
The top of her perfumed head
Rouses pheromones in troves
Tilting her chin upwards thence
I lean in for a kiss, by Jove!
Her soft lips like water
Cool as a window’s pane
Work to wrap my larger mouth
In a flavourful burst of shame.
Then a warm tongue juxtaposed
Intertwines with my own
Teasing, tantalising it prods
My mind quickly turns to foam.
Just as the man’s muscle
Begins herewith to stir
The kiss turns acrid and sour
Cutting sharp like a coniferous fir.
Now my seeing eyes they open
And stare without remorse
Lips conjoined at mirror’s edge
Two tongues, now one, both coarse.
Gone is the carousel of dancing girls
Gone is the sweet smell of lust
And the embrace is on me entirely
A self that only I can trust.
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