Sweet Wreckage

Old dinners litter
dining room table,
dregs of wine as red as
blood still staining goblets,
forgotten salad remnants wilted,
crumbs and crusts now stale on plates all
left behind in wake
of gentle urgent kisses,
water glasses patterned by
impatient fingertips
and taste of crimson lipstick.

Discarded clothing trails rumpled
through living room to bathroom,
black silk skirt and cotton jacket,
socks and stockings,
garter belt and panties
peeled off by teeth,
blue shirt and emerald blouse,
jeans and jockey shorts
lead to where soft rose petals
still cling pink
and glistening
to empty bath.

Soaked footprints climbing stairs;
damp towels
red and yellow halfway up
lie crumpled
left behing in haste
so hands could
eagerly caress:
rose petals have fallen
wet as rain from naked skin;
one robe carefully draped
upon the bannister,
another discarded
on upstairs floor
with more soft petals,
a terrycloth arrow
pointing to bedroom.

Within the confines of bed and sleep
scented candles are all melted,
burned away by
long length of joy,
air still tinged with odor of
burned wicks
honeysuckle
and sweet scent of
sensuous arousal
long satiated.

The room is chaos,
quilts and blankets
strewn on floor by
urgency
and body heat,
sculpted into
memories of
ecstacy
by long hours of
touch
delicious gasps
pressing lips on skin
slow easy rythym
clutching fingers and
shuddering release.

Yet the bed is quiet now
a single sheet
dewed with delight
covering sleep of satisfaction
breath and heartbeats matched
bodies still entwined
dreaming of spent passion
and passions still to come.