She sleeps as only girls sleep
dreaming of babies and diamonds
or how that rich guy got away.
She slumbers with lips pressed tight.

Her eyes flicker like flames of
a new touched fire. Her hands lay
like guardians over her womb,
beneath her dress. She dreams
of his lips. Pressed close, skin on skin.

Once upon a dream she made love
to her sister’s husband. Once upon
a nightmare her husband kissed her
upon her ******.  In deep sleep she
smells of ashes from Auschwitz, her
mother’s family perished amongst flames.

She rubs her nose in sleeps’ hold,
scratches her head with unpainted
fingernails. Once upon a sleep she
counted aborted babes, the white
vacant coffins. She turns in her sleep,
her body moves in her favourite armchair,
too tired for bed. She has had nailed
her one Picasso print above her head.

Her husband is in Vienna, a ****** on
his arm, another between sheets,
never from love, always the lust.

She will have him back upon his return;
always his pupil, but never to learn.