At Least Tommorrow

At least tomorrow I can sleep,

ignore the rapid fury of open eyes rasping my presence.

An induced darkness I furrow out of downward jaws

that eat me, sink me.



No consequence in my sleep,

wrong or right;

limitless behaviour orders me to this cushioned kingdom,

where sometimes I wish to stay when your face is my bounty.

by Anthony Dawson

Comments (1)

I like this one a lot, Anthony. Keep writing. Raynette