Beseeching Sleep's Mistress

Cursed be the early birds
That chirp before the morn,
Mocking as I sleepless lay
With bedsheets all a-worn.

Mercy! O’ elusive temptress,
Pour yourself into my eyes.
Let me smell your raven tresses,
Plunge my brow in poppied thighs.

Caress me in your midnight robe,
Whisper dreams into my ear,
Hit heavy lids with ochre strobe,
And bid the dawn herself appear.

Written Circa 2004

Leave a comment

Please note, comments must be approved before they are published