Original Sketch by Renelle Sommerville (Ishtar)
She called today at half-past three and giggled o’er the phone,
"I found the key you hid outside, I’m here … and all alone."
I eye the glowing ID screen, my number bright and clear.
"If that small screen were TV, dear, you’d wish that you were here."
I eye the desk piled high with work, the phone pressed to my ear,
The rousing sound of breathing there, the meaning loud and clear.
A gentle sigh, a longing moan, my ear begins to burn,
Contorted thus by passions flames, my insides twist and turn.
My hand that holds the telephone begins to gently shake,
Beneath my stylish Dior suit, my joints begin to ache.
A picture forms within my brain, projected on my heart,
"If you’re going to meet me here, I think you’d better start."
Another giggle fills my ear, my brain a movie screen,
Projected pictures of that voice, demure, and yet obscene.
I feel my palms begin to sweat, the phone slips to the floor.
No way can I endure this pain, I’m quickly out the door.
My Beemer screams, I’m through the gears, I still can hear that voice
That echoes through my addled mind and leaves me but one choice.
The tires throw smoke from one last squeal, I wish I could forget,
But shadowed ‘gainst the window glass I see her silhouette.
In eight long strides I’m at the door. "Please show me some ID."
Her husky voice I know so well, slips out and torments me.
I gently knock, a crack appears, I sweep it open wide,
But if I cross that threshhold now, composure’s suicide.
Of course I rush right through the door and meet a sultry grin,
And if this woman weren’t my wife, my thoughts could lead to sin.
Her skin so cool, yet fiery hot, she gently twists and turns,
My lips pressed ‘gainst her pulsing flesh, it sooths . . . and yet it burns.
This story will be ending now, I think enough’s been said.
It doesn’t take a genius here to know what lies ahead.
And so I’ll close the drapes and blinds and lock the big front door,
And wink to all the listeners, and not say anymore.
Adding your comment:
Dee
