Return to me,
my lady,
as my somnolence
has been an evil
holding my thoughts
beneath the surface.
The sanguine ink
in my glass
makes these words
escape with far more ease.
You lay in candlelight,
my olive princess
with the sweet smell
of jasmine and mint,
penetrating my limbic recesses.
I have yearned for this moment,
for far longer than I could bare;
we make for the sheets,
one more time
in an attempt
to make me whole
once again.
