“Hotel rooms inhabit a separate moral universe,”
-Tom Stoppard from his play “Night and Day”
In the early hours of the rainy morning,
I gaze out a picture window ruled with an iron gate,
Attired with large glass panes and gold satin sashes
That frame the window like a theatrical stage.
We sleep in a four-poster walnut bed,
Covered in a vivid tapestry of our lives
Quilting the mattress that we sink into
Each time we make love.
Rented space for periods of time….
When we can be together…….
A costly price for love that is free,
But we pay the price … willingly.
This hotel room is priceless for the time it affords
Filling up time like hot coffee in my delicate porcelain cup
Swirling cream and sugar to sweeten the taste
Your cock rises like steam,
A milky opalescence inlaid in my raw ore
We mine the iron that lines the windows
And the gold satin that drapes like dried candle wax,
Tiered over the window panes
That act as transparent veils to the outer world.
*Inspired by Erica Jong