Your words are the bed i rest on
Hovering in the twilight of the eyelid,
The sparkle of our conversation nestled in my mind
With your downy words. Each night you come
To me in this dreamscape, the warmth of every syllable
pulled up under my chin against the coolness of my night.
I feel the quilt of your soft syntax as I nestle my pride
in your pillow looking for comfort from a day's worth of
dealing with used teabag personalities who aren't worth a fuck.
What would I feel if I fell asleep on a bed of your voice?
Flushing tensions flowing away like the clothes I shed
when asleep, I lay naked between the sheets of your lips,
the soft oblivion of sleep to the sound of a thousand syllable massage;
My spirit calmed, and as cool as the other side of the pillow.
What would I dream if your words were the bed I rested on?
I would dream of everything and nothing; of oblivion and paradise.
The tree in your Eden I would taste, and the fruit of your lips
I would ravenously devour so that you would become
bone of my bone, and flesh of my flesh.
Hovering like a million hummingbird smiles in my heart,
Your words hover in the garden of my soul, and taste the
nectar of my disquieting thoughts. Distillation to the sweetness
that you produce for the sake of our thousand mile love.