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I watch you, as you sleep,
the glow, a rosy hue
of Roman cheeks,
a tiny trickle, as if glued
onto the crease of lips
so red and so inviting,
your hands asleep
in what they call the warmest spot
of living humans,
I wish I could,
and surely would.
I am your guard tonight,
just sitting here,
prepared to be the death
of horny demons,
should they forget their place
and wander in.
I have now put the final cork away,
and opened up the kitchen clock
to rip the living battery
and put an end to it,
the pulse of time.
I shall be happy just to sit
here, by your side,
and dream about the warmth
of you, in all those feather downs.
For Angie
Herbert Nehrlich
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