Unmoved

She has me wanting her
from the moment I wake
and have a conscious thought
until the last moment
of wakefulness
when my eyes are so dreary tired
that the world
in all its forms has ceased
to hold a candle
to the need I have
to be inside her.

I don't even want to move,
but rather rest
nestled in her warmth
and held by her
in the circumference
of her grotto,
the refuge sought
for comfort, finality,
and the tender suckling stride
of an infinite togetherness.

In the early morning wet dream
of being exactly where I am
I think of it
and drain the last drop
of myself
into her
as a memory
of her sleeping
so closely
that I may never
wake again.

runningturtle87