Says my husband
My speech becomes a mistladen terrain
The words emerge tinctured with sleep
They rise from the still coves of dreams
In unhurried flight like herons...
And my ragdoll limbs adjust better
To his versatile lust...he would if he could
Sing lullabies to his wife's sleeping soul
Sweet lullabies to thicken its swoon
I grow more lovable
Says my husband.
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