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I spoke of pretty little things,
of moon spun silk,
recollections of kissing her soft neck-
but only to shroud my honesty,
my greatest fear-
better left a memory,
scribbled on these dirty scraps,
I can remain deep in her heart-
evoked only when she feels,
so alone-
this ghostly apparition,
she will hold closer than I could have ever hoped,
to be-
locked in her arms,
I smile just remembering,
how I would lay wide awake,
all night-
just to be the one she called,
when she couldn't sleep-
so softly, my love,
sweet dreams-
Wes Thompson
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Wes Thompson
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