Your children are asleep.
She is away.
I have awoken,
somewhere in your secret daydreams,
delicately dangling my legs,
over the side of a candy floss bed,
pulling a pillow close to my chest,
to concoct a coy and charming image,
inconvenient but irresistible,
for your consumption and distraction.
You watch your flock,
wondering if they know.
Glaring down at the golden band,
that judges you from your dishonest finger.
where your guilt grows from,
how it multiplies,
as you miss someone you shouldn’t even know.
You watch your life’s work,
lined up in a row,
taking shallow breaths,
as they travel through adventure after adventure,
in their resting imaginations.
You find it hard to resist your own imagination,
fighting off your fantasies,
to fulfil your need to be a watchful wolf,
to your flock of sleeping sheep.
You ask the blankets to watch your heart,
heading to your private palace,
dresser dancing up against the door,
as you surrender to your sheets for a second,
suffocating your salacity,
demons dancing over your scarlet cheeks.
You call me.
I can barely hear your invitation,
over the ragged breaths,
but I will arrive,
from your fantasies,
to your front door.
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