Suite of the Night

By day we are draped

In dignity and class

But when the night falls

We do an ornamental dance

 

We take our Medicine

We don our Keys with Ointment and Bags

Only good must come from this

Nothing bad

 

As preparations are made

There's a kindling of the sense

He and I know the meaning

The Prelude will commence

 

We perform the Prelude to our Suite

His ombligo is mine

And he reciprocates

We soberly comply

 

His ombligo is a canyon

My fingers individually trace

Every nook and cranny

As my heartbeat begins to race

 

Our Keys are magnetized

We lie on the bed

The Prelude ends

The Allemande begins

 

He assumes the Scorpion

I put my Key in his Ignition

He is a car that starts up

In mint condition

 

I undergo this task

Deliberately and slow

Like the roses in the garden

They never speed their growth

 

The Allemade exemplified the grace

Louis XIV showed in his days

One would surmise that our dance

Was written by Rameau and Couperin

 

Then time for the Courante

"The Dance of the Beast"

I assume the Missionary

And his zest is unleashed

 

And yet- a sagacious gentleman

This liberated Beasts remains

He reminds me to relax

So I would not feel pain

 

Then the Sarabande- the relaxation

Our Keys become Joysticks

To our amusement

And the chagrin of Puritan dipsticks

 

Our Menuet and Trio

"The Dance of Joystick and Ombligo"

How stimulating!  How quaint!

Yet so baffling to the purist saint

 

Finally the Gigue

He assumed the Missionary

My performance had him singing

The whistle notes of Mariah Carey

 

When dawn arrives

Our Beasts subside

We drape

We go about our day

And vow to return another night

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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