He felt the chest move up and down,
Like a clock, it’s moving was certain, one, then two
Then three beats, then five hundred, five hundred and twenty,
He could feel the pressure of breath, moving so gently out, so gently in,
And he could watch the soft slumber as it rested
Upon the face, the eyes moving gently beneath that
Fragile skin placed there, that made the eyelids,
A beautiful song; a soliloquy maybe, coming up from that
Glass-like face, lost in its own respite, lost in its mysterious feelings
Of day and night and all the time between wrapped into one.
He knew, that somewhere there, deep inside, maybe today
Maybe not today, maybe in the will of the sanctum,
He too was there, as she slept soundly, folded against his body,
She lies there, so soft, so gentle, lost in her own device.
He could feel every inch of her body, and never move his hands,
The warmth of her, the essence of her, pouring over him, consuming
Him in a soft, luxurious liquid, the essence of sleep.