Flowered vessel of early sun
Seeps beneath my sheets
Like a foreign invasion.
I lick the memories
Like some fruit fly
In a garden
I still lustfully cultivate.
Bitter sweet visions
The taste of your neck
Soft sleepy arousal.
You are somewhere yawning,
Or breathing,
Or sighing.
But you coexist in my soul
Locked away for when I feel strong,
Or desperate enough.

*as previously published in Artisian.