Roger Bonair-Agard: Your Bed Is Too Small For Fucking And Poetry

I knew the bed would be too small
for all the things
I still want to dream about us
that we would toss
turn our way lose ourselves
in each other's limbs
and rut there all over again

too small for the full-bodied voluptuousness
we carry
too small for the full-contact fuck
we create
too small for the full slick sweat we surrender
too small for the grunts and the screams
we extract from each other
to small for the way those grunts
struggle up from our stomachs
somersaulting themselves into 'iloveyous'
and spasmodic cum shots

it is good we also have the floor
and the bathroom
and the tub
and the chair
and the desk
and the park
public spaces and the wide open savannas
of our imaginations

these places will have to substitute
offer room for the volume
of our fucking and our poetry
for the way this animal love
lurches monstrous up my chest
wanting to make you happy
and warm and unafraid
and free

so - get a bigger bed
one that can hold all the things
I still want to dream
but ready me a tiny corner on this one
so I can still get lost in you.