I take many lovers to my bed
the likes of Austen or Ginsberg
I've no mind for reputations though
no names are needed here
I'm a copious slut
well versed with nervous fingers
zealous and easily excitable
self-taught to over indulge
gorging myself on their dilated tongues
and over used appendages
swallowing down their egos
and nuances
till I lay exhausted beside them
or more often then not
under them
while some leave me almost instantly
others manage to crawl inside my head
twisting my dreams and laying eggs
much like a cockroach
left to infest and fester
something to dwell on and pick at later
but the clever ones claw their way to my heart
wrapping their themes and agendas
around my very soul
moving me to tears or hatred
but always the lust follows
and there they hook me
beneath their covers
with a kind word
a well placed lie
a lovely plot
till I've licked my fingers
and there's no more in turn
a bittersweet end
till the hunger takes me again
for more
and more
and more

new loves
old loves
cluttering my bookcases with memories
then onto the next
only returning to revisit those old flames
that continue to satisfy time and again
and they welcome back
my ink stained fingers
with a warm leather greeting
as I sink inside them
lost and content
but never fully satisfied
because always the hunger remains








*Before anyone gets too excited this is about reading in bed. Though it wouldn't be me if it wasn't a bit perverse too* ;)