Lovesick

Lovesick


 

She’s still soft asleep
I would bury her body in words
Ravish her silk ribbed neck
Yet speech might arouse her
 
The moon peeks in and taps her wrist
I should not end dreams
I’ve not dreamed myself
 
My nurse stirs
Perhaps my muttered curses
Will buy not love but a short syringe
Betray me to that passionate seduction:
The delirious fantasy of hope

Posted in Medicine.