Monday, October 6, 2014

Sleepytime Cuddles

Washed up on murky tides of blood and pain,
From otherworldly, twilight deeps of visceral fear
Where squirming lampreys writhed in nightmare grip,
I ease uneasily into our bed.
I hear the distant, mournful howling of the train.
I trace the ghost-blue outline of your head
Against the streetlamp's glow; stroking your hip,
And drifting off, I nuzzle you behind your ear,
As gentle as the lightest summer rain.

Copyright by Ike Wassom, 2014.  All rights reserved.