On the bed again

I am on the bed again,
Not on the cosy bed of Roses,
but an improvised one
on the dovetailed tiled floor,
roll on on the floor of matted thoughts,
ruminate if the slick body
in the fictitious figure in the novel
in your glossy hand is
commanding and prurient
or delving and demanding.
Compact disc player by the side is
Whining , at times seductive,
You ponder if the SOUL unseen,
Yet seeing everything around you,
Hidden , silent and angry craves
for liberation ,waiting for the
final call from The Above:
this silent voice becomes more obdurate,
but this boorish tent on the skin clings.