the sleeping woman

the sleeping woman I

the humble din of bedside glamour
never reaching its epoch

finer trophies struggle
past her sleeping form

while she, modern in her position
sleeps soundly

dreaming their nightmares
for them



the sleeping woman II

he sits, waiting and watching
her figure rise and fall;
her left nipple sailing on each breath
like a buoy
over vast oceans of supple flesh.

collected at the knee
he admires the form she keeps;
modern and rigorous.
each crevasse a cavern
embodied by lust and by need.

his need. he can't remember
her name or which hotel
they'd stumbled into.

the only memory he retained
was that of an animal
knowing her and remembering how,
but his mind foregoes the why;
and listens intently
to the air as it parts her pursed lips.

the sleeping woman III

stranger creatures have been taken
to the reaches of stranger worlds;

to brink on ages and grape’d
by seductions of stranger intention.

but a stranger he, until last night;
the man that took her all.