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Alessander Mar 2015
It's not so much your lips
But the words behind them
And the touch my skin still tingles from
And the way your closed eyelids warm
My stiff neck in the morn

I can see you layered there, bundled
Among the blankets you stole from me
Some time during the night
One hand tucked under the pillow
The other serenely on the bed

You lazily turn, half-languidly
Digging your head into my broad breast
Then heave your leg over my thigh
Kissing my scruffy beard

How can I summon the will
To wake and troop to work?
To be sobered from my delirium!
To be polluted by time and space!
Yanked away from your ethereal landscape
And hurled into corporate junkyards
Of grinding metal, cubicles, alarms
I want to dwell forever in your liebestraum
Like a ghost drifting through a foggy rose garden

— The End —