Sleep is a Woman

who pulls at me. I am at the edge
of an embrace and if I fall there will
be softness and warmth and pressure
from all around, holding me tight. If
I close my eyes sleep is her scent
invading my nostrils, filling my lungs
and conquering my self-conscious spirit.
With a whisper more felt than heard she
calls to me. In a language I cannot speak
but my heart knows well, she calls to me.
Through lips the red of rubies and blood
she calls to me.
And I listen.
With ears that ache for her words I listen.
With once-empty arms I hold her,
and through eyes cold blue I know her:
She is the Dream Queen,
     the Princess of Passions, and
     the mother of my fears...and
she knows me.

1990s