Ménage à Trois - erotic poem

Ménage à Trois

Insatiable these mornings, full
of a drunk excitement, your eyes
have the glazed look of a woman
who hasn't slept all night; you wake me
with mouth open kisses, the smell
of a different room in your clothes.
You take off your dress and show me
the stains on your skin
like the trails of exotic gastropods;
a body paint of semen
which I rehydrate with my tongue.
I trace the splash across your stomach
and over your breast, a thick dried
river of it, flooding again; your nipple
rough with a smear of salt.
That was one hell of a shot.
I suck on you greedily and slide
my tongue where his own tongue
must have slid long into the night,
and when all trace of him is gone,
except the smell in your hair
we make our own maps on each other's skins
and fuck like we never do
without this heat inside you, without
this ghost of a man drifting between us
like a lover sharing our bed.

By Neil Rollinson