Playground





Her bed moves up and down
Like an accordian fold
With the touch of a button
On a white remote.

It’s still
And then

She shows me how
It moves
Slowly
Into different positions
Of which I am not used to.

I am more familiar with a plain and simple regular flat one.

I remember a bed
In a roach ridden motel room
That I shared with a stripper.

I deposited quarters into
A box on the nightstand
And received fifteen minutes
Of monotonous
Irritating vibrations
That just got in the way of everything.

It wasn’t even sexy.

We could only laugh
At the shear noise of it.

But it did make the roaches
Scurry
To an allowable distance.

We spent the rest of the quarters
On cable porn
Like we needed it
And rented the room
By the hour.

Now
I am on a bed
That moves
For the first time
Since then
Many, many years later.


This bed smells good.

And it moves
As she presses the remote control
With a mischievious smirk.

It shifts and changes position
Softly
Like hands
Pressing into my body.

I go for the ride.

I am altogether curious
About this bed
And seduced by the superhuman
Inamorata
Within
It’s bent form.

I challenge positions with her
Like never before
And push her
Into confines
Of which she likes.

She adores tight spots.

With her legs
Above our shoulders
And myself
Pushing deep
Within her

We move together as one...

All of us.

Her, myself
And
Her fondling mechanical bed.