You Promised Not To Wake Me

She snores softly in a tunnel
of cognisant darkness, unable or
unwilling to roll onto her silent
side, rumbles along rhythmic
tracks of her dreams clacking in
an entourage of warm memories;
You promise not to wake me she
sighs soulfully, I hold you to that.

Each morning she opens her eyes
in a glowing crescendo’s climax of
awakening intensity; each morning
she claims these orgasmic leavings
bring her back – she lies quiescent
in imitation sleep thighs apart and
tranquilly contemplating, moistly
waiting the day’s expectancy.

In the day’s first phase, warmth of
recent love-making paints lingering
veils of lace filigree filling the hard
vacuum’s vagrancy; the uncontrived
portraits of ancient love hung with
secure smiles – joining the day with
effusive greetings she says again,
You promised not to wake me...
© 16 April 2007, I.D. Carswell