My thoughts of you as I awake
Are not as pure as angels' dreams,
Unless they spent their night on earth,
Carousing at some roadside inn,
Leg wrestling on an unmade bed
To learn the mortal ways of man,
Which gods themselves scarce understand,
Except at certain festivals,
Or on a mission comically
Disguised as fowl or serpentry,
Beguiling those less innocent
Than you, my love, could ever be.
Small wonder that I'm losing sleep,
Imagining myself in deep.