Song of the Siren 2

I think I dreamed of you last night. I woke with the covers thrown back. I woke to sweat and a tropical fug that clung to my pyjama top all earthy mulch and a smell like the underside of felled branches. My kidneys ached. I woke in a foetal curl and there had been your back, a staircase of a spine climbing towards the underside of my chin. I woke with an empty hug and a vague whiff of guilt for the boy who seemed oblivious to our night tangling.

He was there in the dream, my boy. He was watching our energetic coupling, the fight and tear of cats negotiating the heady world of sex. He was sad and disappointed. He shook his head. I noticed but I couldn't stop. There was the flesh of you and I would never be sated by it, but I devoured it furiously.

I knew that it was you even though she had the face of someone I have seen in the real world. I knew that this was the second half, round two, the wrestle in all it's pornographic glory. No watery imagery, no fish this time but flesh and blood and spit and sticky juice. A real life tussle relegated to the land of nod.

I opened my eyes to the memory of a guilty pleasure, and the knowledge that I had enjoyed you, I would enjoy you, I will always enjoy you Ms Siren Part 2.