© 2015 Steve King
All rights reserved
You rest so easy in the guise
of your delighting dream,
with sunlight full upon your breast,
and shadows fallen on your eyes.
And from that dream confuse my name—
forget, it seems, the afternoon,
the waiting wonder that inflamed
in every sudden thrall.
So quick the fire, no need the moon;
and yet so soon your dreams required
that other call.
I’ll never ask you to deny
endearments that might seem misused,
for sometimes dreams must be excused.
But oh,
where have they fled,
My All—
those thousand sighs?
