The Dream

The dream, sheathed sweet in tender flesh
held deferent, drawn deep in breathless
peace and shrouded calm now rests; energies
absorbed in echoes of a quietude are stilled,
enmeshed in body languor by the needs
suppressed to steep in this largesse.

The dream engenders reveries of calm
beyond a caul of veiled subscription, a
balm of soothing fluid easing wicked weals,
healing wounds, appeasing hungers where
the hard-edged hammers crash their
symphony on yielding, pliant flesh.

The dream is only ever transient, a rite
of passage brief but cogent in its depth,
ceding bonds between the wants and
needs, binding those whose comforts feed
on mutuality. And in its dying breath it shrinks
to nothingness and deftly slips away.
© 4 June 2007, I.D. Carswell