By Gala
Date: 21 September 2000
Silvering
Restless
tossing
Where the hell is sleep,
when the limbs are lead,
and the brain is on auto pilot
but something else
will not give up the ghost
and has settled around my heart
like the mist in the Smokies
where the clouds
hide the home of the gods
from the eyes or mere mortals?
And something makes my eyes open
and I feel the touch
of moonbeams slide across my skin
and the moon is not a woman tonight.
No.
The moon is male,
my lover come softly
to bathe me in his cool heat,
to relish my flesh
in something much more than
but not quite
an absolute touch.
I could draw up the sheet,
and cover myself
withdrawing from this bit of ravishment
But that is not my wish,
and not my will
and as I feel sleep steal upon me
I know full well
where I will be taken
and when,
and by whom
in the silvering of the night.
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