whether you’re awake in my imagination
makes a game of this charade; if asleep
your dreaming plays reality that schemes
my breath away – and in a single chorus
when the notion dawns this breaking day
rescinds a pass to moist delight, a shrewd
review decides that fate decrees there’ll
always be another time, another day
then in a passage of petite surprise you
rise with an embrace placating wisdoms
deference of the obtuse – I needed you
restrain the passion fuelling you, in truth
I slept but half a breath away bereaved
in chaste remains of recent solitude
© 8 October 2010, I. D. Carswell
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