Sprawl on the sheets,
your fingers brushing
the dark at the root

of your belly, eyes
bright with lust, patient
as I fumble

the gangly tripod,
banging my toe,
lurching for the rig

before it crashes. Or not.
You might set it up,
your imp's smile

barrel of the lens
before you come
into the open bed.

Our desire
is a small red light,
blinking. Quick,

with two fingers,
join us, join us,
ride me, don't move.

Or I'll slither on you,
part way home, held
on trembling arms