Melting into the surreal warmth,
Lulling me to sleep,
Cozy like a blanket,
Soft as a sheep,

My eyes grow heavy,
They trip and fumble,
I must collect my bearings before I take a tumble,

My body is ready,
Take me to sleep,
C’mon sandman,
Give me that dream.

Summer solstice
when our souls
touched
And as your
silver spoon
has fed you good
My mornings
will remain
your bedtime
Just like
we knew
it would.

Chatter

she. what are u listening to?
me.  melancholy song writers broken love tunes

she. ugh.  why?

me.  wanted to see how deep into the bed
I could sink,
till you came a looking to
play with me, my spirits to raise,
a game of capture the flag
indoors

--—————
Aural vs. Oral

her night dress rides up,
I awake to an undressed
waist and thigh,
take advantage of the pomp
& circumstance,
cause i believe
whole heartedly in
waiste not, want more

as tongue performs its
repertoire of magic tricks,
i.e. reciting poems,
to the standard whelps
and yelps of “oh its just you,”
keep hearing little tiny whispers
but not  those accustomed
sweet nothings?

turns out she is
listening to her book,
quite the mesmerizer,
on her new cordless earbuds
which are  tablecloth covered
by her blondini tresses

upset?

nah. applauded her
multimedia tasking,
but took it as a challenge,
my efforts redoubled

she didn't seem to mind

now she wakes me up to show me,
Surprise!
her cordless earbuds, in place

sigh.

--——————-
Ordering Coffee

weekends, get coffee in bed
in my 19 oz. porcelain
cup from Toronto,
standing order is:
fill it to the rim,
extra cream

she says.  
isn't ironic!
that is exactly
what I
charge for my coffee

payable in advance

There’s a phenomenon; happens at night.
Apparently it’s a lot to do with
the turning of the earth
and bedclothes… You know?
Both the duvet and what I call
the dog barrier! That’s an old throw.

Sure, I have to believe what I’m told.
But every night there’s a real fight
and amidst it I do try to keep hold.
… But every morning it seems
I wake up shivering and left out
in the cold…

I mentioned it to 'the others' in a gentle
and incidental kind of way.
The dog wasn’t bothered.
He was busy having HIS day.
And my missus, with no remorse,
said glibly, and probably without thinking...
"It’s the centrifugal force!"

So there you have it!… The duvet I mean… Or rather you don’t!

The Endeavors of Lips
by Michael R. Burch

How sweet the endeavors of lips—to speak
of the heights of those pleasures which left us weak
in love’s strangely lit beds, where the cold springs creak:
for there is no illusion like love ...

Grown childlike, we wish for those storied days,
for those bright sprays of flowers, those primrosed ways
that curled to the towers of Yesterdays
where She braided illusions of love ...

"O, let down your hair!"—we might call and call,
to the dark-slatted window, the moonlit wall ...
but our love is a shadow; we watch it crawl
like a spidery illusion. For love ...

was never as real as that first kiss seemed
when we read by the flashlight and dreamed.

Published by Romantics Quarterly and The Eclectic Muse (Canada). Keywords/Tags: Childhood, children, bed, bedtime, story, flashlight, kiss, goodnight, dreams, pleasures, lips, fantasy, illusion