s t r e w n over five quarters of my bed.
I sit meditative on the sofa
as her contented breath is drawn in and out -
An act she has perfected so beautifully.
Her eyelids flutter in dream.
Dancing with daisies and Dinah in Wonderland
or perhaps drifting sensuously,
alongside sirens on sheets made of silk.
My own are merely cotton of the red variety,
smooth to the touch,
smelling sweetly of her.
They lie strewn as she does
barely covering the tiny black tattoo
where back meets butt.
My toffee apple princess
you murmur my name
and I am yours.