The heavy boardroom
table thrums,
your icon flashing
within the
cup of my palm,
urgent.
A glance assures all
around are
comatose as the CEO
drones,
oblivious to your
nudity.
Thrum: “Bored darling?
Me too.
Thinking of Room
Service and
what he would find.”
Thrum: “There’s a
fateful knocking.
Am I too bare to dare
to
answer such a
summons?”
Thrum: “And I have no
money!
With what can I tip
him for
champagne with no
cash?”
Thrum: “Seriously
vexed! He was like
80 and wretched and
kept his
eyes on the carpet!”
Thrum: Photo of a
humdrum
hotel carpet
“Seriously, do I have to
go down to the hotel
bar….
Thrum: “…and thrust my
tits at some lonely
out-of-town
salesman to get some…
Thrum: “…attention, or
are you going to
get up here pronto and
remind me
how you love my….
Thrum: “…lumps and
bumps and
splendours?”
(Image used by kind permission of
Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The
poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)
Thrum: "LOVE this! Your word choices, as always, make the scene. Particularly the play between text messages and "vintage" words like summons and vexed. ~C
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