When We Surrendered Gladness

Hot breath on collarbones and
cotton sheets between my toes
is all I really need to know
when questioning contentment.

See, there’s no feeling quite like
fingers lingering lax in hair or
misplacing last night’s underwear
when waking braced with bliss.

Your hands, they never told me no,
and I, how I, forgot to go
when your room leaked with shadows
and we surrendered gladness.

Morning never tasted sweet
before I met it from your sheets
while listening to your soft heartbeat —
in the arms of satisfaction.

© 2016 Stellular Scribe

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Wool and Roses

We woke to wool and roses,
and the smell of wet wood
creaking in a hypnosis
that only we understood.

A dime of sun swayed
on a burlap bed
that, unmade,
cradled your sea-turned head.

We were marooned:
and to the seeping wind
we had become attuned,
our hardened hearts chagrined.

You woke with lips of salt,
and fistfuls of fabric.
Wool and roses, you’d exalt,
our unpracticed kind of magic.

Waking never lasted long,
and with the gulls you weeped.
Tossed across the sea nightlong,
waves carried us to sleep.

© 2016 Stellular Scribe

The Lotus-Eaters

Lotus-eatersIn sleep
there are no mysteries
that dash and dim the glass of dreams.

In sleep
there are just reveries
that unwind the truth for what it seems.

Come sleep,
and drink sweet lethargy.
Come sleep,
and taste our apathy.

This lotus smells of yesterday.
(A portside sigh, fare her goodbye).
Wake up, you are a castaway!
(Tastes of bliss, don’t forget her kiss).
Bodies on the beach recline
(What was before? Are we ashore?),
drunk off the gods’ own wine
(No need to know; you need to slow).
Wake! To Ithaca we sail in force!
(Islanders pry, ‘lie under sky’).
North winds: blown us from our course!
(Fruit they bear, soft sleep ensnares).
Get up, you reek of lotus flower.
(There’s no return, the berry burns).
Get up, this is your final hour.
(Roused too early, weep bitterly).

Come sleep,
and drink sweet lethargy.
Come sleep,
and taste our apathy.

In sleep
there are no mysteries
that dash and dim the glass of dreams.

In sleep
there are just reveries
that unwind the truth for what it seems.

© 2016 Stellular Scribe

let me sleep- an original poem

"Cet ete" by j-acques
Cet ete” by j-acques

sleep isn’t always a matter
of rest
or relief
or rejuvenation

i am safe in the dark
unbeatable beneath the blankets
without worry when
tendrils
of
sweet, silky nothingness
murmur over my lids

there is
something about the not knowing
that comes from dreams
it’s warm
and nice
and soft
and sometimes scary

but sleep
is what keeps me safe
even through the nightmares
and when i wake
it all seems so dull
so grinding
so rough and razored and rude

and the day is so long
and these sheets are so warm

please
let me sleep