I
Eyes half lidded,
hot tea too sweet,
I write too late in a
drugged out stupor
from too much sleep
of
and the recollection
of dreams too real;
flesh and moonlight.
I swear
the flesh -
palpable,
tactile -
I could
feel
the warmth and passion,
shivering from loss
as I awoke in a cold sweat...
fever again, so tired...
This way comes one
in glorious valor slain
to the halls of
looking for the ferryman
to take him yonder.
but
