In search of sun.


A mis-spelled word usurped what might have been drink for me. Write melodically and I'm drawn like a lamb to milking ewe. Rhythm in prose catches me, unawares, until it's too late and there I am swallowed by it's nectar much like the spider lures the fly.

Throw away your blankets when their warmth makes you boil. Grab the coldest pillow at your breast and pull from her ice until sleep overtakes that violation which took from your dreams and contented brow.

Sleep on. Dream of lands where sun spends her time. Let bare your shoulders, your hip and spine. Lie contentedly on sand and drink sweet wine. A scent, a word, a thought, pure desire lay my sleep where sun doth expire.

Split the blind with light bring warmth. Welcome, welcome sun in morn. Stay until you must rest, yet grant my wishes to come back. Split the blind on every morn defend my soul from gray, cold norm.