Cold Grey Sun

Cold Grey Sun is up in the sky
with his friends, tiny stars shining bright.
When its light reaches the land
wakes the owl, wakes the bat
singing his waking song
in his canorous ultrasonic sound.

And in my bed, I lie
with my gal beside.
I look into her eyes
they are deep as the sea—
and the sea is the book she writes.
Inscribing her poetry on the waves
so I ride on the waves,
to keep on turning the pages

As her flesh is above mine,
she moves like a poetic rhyme.
Her bosoms rest upon my chest,
as she breathes slow.
My soul entwines with hers
creating an immortal glow.

The cold grey sun is getting warmer
and my dove is ready to fly,
to join the machine masses
As I watch the clock ticking by—
I wait for bats to be awake
So, I can hear them singing;
laying in my Bed of Dreams.