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Good Morning
Through the twilight/'/s morn my dreams are of you, lips as soft as down, as addicting as a flowers dew, eyes that shine with the brilliance of the sun, with the gentleness of a warm embrace, you guide me, harbor me and keep me safe as I traverse the waters of this foreign dreamscape.
Thus do I wake to the rays of the sun, vivid images burned into the back of my waking eyes, a face as seraphic as the cherubs upon a church, a voice that soothes yet makes me thirst, echoing through the void of sleep, waking now, the vision fading, I wake to find myself alone, yet the feeling of warmth and radiance still emanating from my chest.
I can only hope that the very muse who touched me ever so gently with her visage also sleeps profoundly, with the same comfort and lull, that her dreams be guided through my arms, and that she see me as she wakes, the words of "good morning my love" echoing through the void of her space, touching her core as I in turn return her favor twice fold.
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