I run into the night with the darkness all around,
Sound echoes softly from a padding on the ground,
The streets are deserted, the moon is new and black,
The only illumination is through a curtain’s little crack.
As I run it passes, and the night again ensues,
And all I hear is the padding as the ground contacts my shoes.
Last time I was dreaming, but this time it’s for real,
From speaking on the phone, to the night into which I steal.

I do not think you realise the control that you possess,
You speak a couple of words, I run to your address.
If I had to run any further, I would do it just the same,
My heart is lifted greatly by just the mention of your name.
I thought I needed no-one, I thought I had it all,
Then you came along and control began to fall.
At a whisper I am yours, my services you command
From a nod of your head to a gesture with your hand

So this is the reason that I am standing in your yard,
You said the balcony was tricky, to climb it would be hard,
But you know I love a challenge and now is no time to change,
With a warm yet subtle smile I see the beam within my range.

I leap and then I lift until my chest touches wood,
My actions like a ninja, climbing as silently as I could,
I soar over the railing and land just like a cat,
Lucky for your balcony that your suitor wasn?t fat.

I knock upon your window until I realise you are asleep,
So I push upon your sliding door and entering I creep.
Your breath is fast and heavy, but your face is quite serene
You must be thinking of me in a romantic little dream.

At this point, I am stuck, for I might give you a fright,
It is the logical sort of reaction given the darkness and the night.
But I venture forth and touch your leg as softly as I can,
Your name I whisper softly “Tinkerbell, it’s Peter Pan.”

I think that through the darkness my senses had been blurred,
For my eyes never saw and my ears never heard
The baseball bat swooshing crisply thought the air:
My feet hit the ceiling and my head hit a chair.
“Wooing, my friend, is much much harder than this,
You are a fool if you thought she really meant that kiss.
You were both under the influence- it was as real as a dream.
And what of the phone calls? … things aren’t as they seem.”
It was a voice in my head, the better part of my sense,
I knew it was right, I had no defence.
“In you waltz thinking she’ll sleep under your arm,
Did you never think that you would suffer bodily harm?
Well that’s it. If you are that stupid, leave you here I will,
It is all too obvious that your intelligence is nil.”
With that there was a click and the voice disappeared,
And I was thus left senseless; my rational ability cleared.
But through my senseless state, I still managed a thought:
That this girl is tough and can never be bought
With flattering compliments and Romeos in the night,
Especially when they sneak in and give Juliet a fright.

I could not feel my legs, let alone what was between,
The thought of its size made my face go all green.
A previously substantial size, pain can quickly alter,
And the steady supply of blood will soon begin to falter.
Lifting my limp body and laying me on your bed,
(not the sexual one, the placing-laying instead)
You smile at my audacity and my stupidity as well,
At seeing you sympathetic my pain begins to quell.
Introductions aside, you ask me about my visit,
All I can do is nod and say you are exquisite,
For you most certainly are, there is no denying that,
But you want an answer- to know just where it’s at.
I mumble something about “fun” and feebly touch your breast,
And against the author’s control, this poem imitates the rest.
But with a steady hand you lead mine to it’s rightful place,
“I would cut that out now, if you want to remain in her place.”

My sense had come back- it felt sorry for me I’m sure,
I apologised for my rudeness and promised “never more.”
So there it was we sat, together and yet estranged,
You thought your thoughts – mine were still deranged.
Eventually I formed a sentence, ten minutes work it took,
I explained that you had invited me, you had caught me with your hook.
“On the phone?” you replied aghast, with astonishment in your eyes,
“but we haven’t spoken at all- you must be telling lies.”
“But of course we spoke together” I defiantly replied,
For we had; “don’t you remember our passions running high?
As we shared our inner fantasies, as we sighed and we moaned,
Surely you remember…about 9 o’clock I phoned…”
“My sister was talking then and went on until late,
I was trying hard to call you but all night I had to wait.”
“But we were talking so intimately” I smiled and thought it through,
“Don’t you remember just what you told me to do?”
It was at “do” that I realised the error which had occurred,
I felt as strong as a mushroom, as tall as a turd.
Your sister had tricked me with her voice so like yours,
We had spoken like lovers, we had broken a few laws….

I buried my head in your pillows as the laughter billowed outside,
I climbed under your doona, my only defence was to hide.
There I remained while the thought terrorised my brain,
Looking at your sister would never be quite the same.
A few minutes later you joined me in my retreat,
You might be very hard, but beneath that you’re very sweet.
“Glad you came anyway,” came the words across space,
I was content to let the darkness cover the redness of my face.
In the midst of my sorry bout of self-pitying grief,
You talked away about your life and your philosophical belief,
Your hand caressed my battered head in gentle little strokes,
While you said you found me funny and made a couple of jokes

The laughter broke the tension and it continued through the night,
With the worst possible beginning, the end turned out all right.
There was more, mark my words, a real orgy of fun,
But if you want poems with sex, try looking at the other one.
This one is pure…oh, don’t give me that frown,
Sex itself is beautiful, but the words just bring it down.
It is best that the memories speak for themselves,
In a language in our heads, not on dusty old shelves.
The subject of my thoughts is hinted but not declared,
With subtlety drifting and imagination being snared,
An organic formation, individual to all,
It unfolds as you imagine, it is at your beck and call.

So do not blame the poet if you find the words unchaste,
For he didn’t say directly what you thought was in bad taste,
He just made sweeping comments and let you go from there,
Just a tickle in his fancy that your imagination has to bear.
So while seeming like the final one, this is may not be the last,
For I’ve talked about your breasts but they are not yet in the past.
Or the other parts which I can only dream of seeing- how about those?
Just waiting to escape my mind – your body without your clothes.
Or maybe I should liken your smile to the refreshing summer rain,
The sun upon your shiny hair, the longing and the pain.
I could then speak of the daffodils and the wind that blows your name.
But whatever I say, at the end of the day, I love you just the same.