Litkicks Message Board Archive

room service

Posted to Poetry

i ordered room service this morning,
sun rays peaking in through drapes.
the waiter tapped on the door with
his knuckles, like thunderclaps.

come, i whispered.

he entered room 718
carrying a silver tray of crepes
decorated with powdered sugar
with a trace of cinammon.
delicate orange slices, seedless
purple grapes.

where would you like me to place
the tray?, he asked.

bring it to me here on the bed,
i said, my head at rest on
the brushed cotton blue pillowcase.

i was wearing a white lace
camisol and matching thong,
humming a soft song to echo
the dawn's starlings.

right here?, he asked, putting
the tray next to me gingerly,
the way a boy would do if he knew
something were amiss.
he refused to look at my eyes,
his blue stare kissed each
inch of my torso, thighs,
waist, then made a home
on my breasts.

yes, i said, that's fine.
did you bring the wine?

when he popped the cork
of the champagne, i nearly came,
his left hand holding the bottle neck
firm yet soft, like he had practiced
this lofty act repeatedly
with me in mind.

let me feed you, he said,
and the bed became a feast,
me on my knees taking
him in, cream cheese crepes
and grapes exchanged
mouth to mouth,
mine then traveling south
to cover the bottle neck,
champagne exploding,
bubbly sips.

room service doesn't get
better than this!