When you stroke my forehead and brush my hair with your fingers gently and bask my head in to your bare laps,
You whisper your breath along with the stories of mundane effervescence,
you don't sing the lullaby either,
I would just slip serenely into the sleep...
and it badinages you for having seen my eyes enwrapped to unravel the otherworldly..
Then the chortle spreads across your chin and your forehead enfolds pondering the love,
You lift my head from your lap and replace it with the pillow and
It causes a little turbulence in my body which recognizes the difference between your lap and pillow..
Gently you pat my chest like the mother dabs the child..
and with my heart sentient the transience of your palm,
I am transposed again to the silted life......(dreams)