While the Cherub Writes

I write in bed.
Resting my head I sink down into the wide open sheets,
Clunking springs settle into their place,
Like a tired wife settles into her husband’s rusty palms.
I fall heavy, like cumulus clouds crumbling on a summer’s day.
Hand heavy, with pulse, off the edge,
I dream through my fingers,
Dropping off the lead,
I deposit
Onto cool silky sheets;
The soft glow through curtains,
Orange murmured light,
Whisperings of goodnight
Amidst the dark half-light
Laid out like dreams, above and beneath the seams
Of pillowcases.
Smiling faces full of
Heavy embroidered cloths
That billow and merge with the shadows
And glimpse of the dreams under sewn eyelids.
Lips threaded through the lashes –
Kisses that fall deep through the retina.
I fall asleep.

When I write in bed,
I rest my head,
Against all the dreams of lovers,
That my mind may stay fed,
When I rest in bed.

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