Rambling of the Cold and AloneA Poem by Conrad WrobelIts winter, its cold, and I'm alone in bed, but not at heart. ...Which is worse?
One night has barely passed and already I long to have you beside me once more. To have the warmth of your bosom, the heat of your loins to keep me through the cold, unforgiving night. The window glistens with winter’s passing; Jack Frost is selling to all takers. The 4 thick covers inadequately contain my essence, leaving me shivering and alone in the dark. My breathe hangs on the air like a ghost and my toes dance in search of comfort. Frankly, the cat provides no comfort at all. Every time I knock it off my pillow just seems to strengthen its resolve to lay on it. I give up, its too cold and I’m too tired to care about it any longer. Let it sit there and purr in its narcissistic victory. What little warmth is left in the air will remain under my covers, I’ll waste it no more on removing the pesky creature. And yet, as I settle back into my cocoon, my mind wanders back to you. The science of it escapes me… but two naked bodies generate warmth far more effectively than one, especially when they are rubbing up against one another like fevered lemmings. I’m not sure which thought excites me more, the warmth or the lemmings. Either way my feet are freezing. I wonder if I could trap the cat under the blankets and turn it into a foot-warming throw pillow? It’s right next to me, purring unaware… It probably wouldn’t even notice, it rarely notices anything. Unfortunately, five out of six ends are pointy, so I’ll just leave it alone and go back to my muttering. It is tempting, though… I’ll just stick my hands between my thighs and curl up even tighter. Its too cold to be thinking dirty thoughts like that! But, as the scenes and dreams play out through my mind, a new heat is pushed through my veins, warming me from the inside like a fine wine. I can’t help but remembering physics class: friction produces heat. And my mind goes right back to the fevered lemmings… You, laying on top of me, riding on top of me, planting the most sensuous little love-kisses across my epidermis as I grab and squeeze your intoxicating a*s with much gusto. God, I love your cheeks, all four of them. Even if they seem to get less blood flow then the rest of you. For some reason, your cheeks are always a little chilly until I get my hands on them. My cheeks are too hairy to get cold, but my feet hold a different opinion. Whenever my blood flow changes, for better or for worse, it always seems to abandon my feet first. Ah, blood flow: my nether region is very specific how it misses you right now. Distance is should not be aphrodisiacal. My imagination has no choice but to spur onwards towards more intricate and gratuitous scenery. Well, friction makes for heat, and I have no choice but to rub vigorously… at my feet. Not what you were thinking! Frankly, I prefer your feet, they smell better and have a soft, cushy feel to them. Actually, all of you seems to have a soft, cushy feel; especially because you never seem to mind my squeezing. What I wouldn’t give to have you laying next to me right now, just so I could give you a little squeeze. And maybe, just maybe, you’d squeeze me back. The foot rub does NOTHING! I’m freezing without you, baby. As tired as I am, as cold as my feet are, a single thought may just nod me off tonight. Maybe I can sleep, maybe, with the knowledge that when I get home you’ll keep my feet, among other things, warm at night. Here’s to missing you, kid. © 2008 Conrad WrobelFeatured Review
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4 Reviews Added on February 5, 2008 Last Updated on February 13, 2008 AuthorConrad WrobelEastsound, WAAboutIt's lonely in my mind...may I step into yours for a second? I write comedy, scripts, and poetry. I dream of being a successful stand up comedian, and will eventually have something of that nature po.. more..Writing
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