Ain’t Nothing Like The Real Thing. Poem by Dónall Dempsey

Baby sleeps
in shade

cuddles up
to me

milk blister
on her lip

even in sleep
she searches for my male nipple.

I laugh at this
persistence

guess I’ll do
for comfort.

The real McCoy
lies naked in the sun

asleep herself
acquiring a tan.

Her breasts
still leak milk

glistening droplets
human honeydew.

From nowhere
(it appears)

they appear
(a pair)


blue butterflies
from a blue sky

almost invisible
to the naked eye

until they settle on her breasts
dividing the spoils equally

fluttering at first
but then perfectly still

as if you wore them
(a beautifully wrought nipple jewellery) .

I wonder do you dream
(in your sleep)

of this surreal
real dream

happening
in the wide awake world.

I dare not disturb them
(and they do not disturb you)

for fear
the magic would vanish.

They too appear to be asleep.

Everyone is dreaming except me
(even the world is drowsy)

I
the only one awake

to see it all
for real.