Arlene Corwin Poetry

Dancing In The Bed

It’s 8:15 a.m. I’m still

Asleep when you come in the room.

The radio’s been on since five.

You modestly and unassumingly

Creep in. I slowly come alive.

My neck is slightly sore, the symptom

Of a migraine. You massage it.

Then because the body needs it

And you’re sensitive, your fragrant hand,

Like a corsage, begins to find,

Explore my spine.

There’s music in the background and,

Before we know it, there we are

Moving, dancing in the bed.

Lovely and exciting rhythms

Form our future memoir.

Up and down, the rose bedspread

Awry, we minuet and smile,

Closely dancing all the while.

And, oh, how we enjoy the time

Willingly exploited, using

Hands and even feet to prime

The other’s total health, the boozing,

Bruising done by others non-existent.

How we’ve laughed! Now I’m awake.

I feel like a griddlecake.

Or eggs and steak?

The dance in bed not inconsistent

With the need to eat,

The music’s beat

Now slow, now fast, the background broadcast

Perfect prologue to a breakfast.

Dancing In The Bed 5.5.1996

Love Relationships; Circling Round Eros;

Arlene Corwin