Slumber-dark, the room inhales, exhales,
with the shifting focus of my myopia,
to the breathing rhythm of your body-heap.
I scan the watching shadows that see bland day-lit domestic detritus
turned to hood-cloaked guardians
of midnight’s unfamiliar realm.
I also watch.
The unblinking snake would envy
the piercing intent of my study
of your head’s side. Skin-lids shudder
as your eyes twitch and roll in pursuit
or retreat in the dreams racing
through your Tardis mind; that universe
of memories, lusts, imaginings, clustered
compactly inside that adored box of bone.
Peering at your ear,
I will myself tiny as the flea,
so to boldly journey
past embryo-curled exterior structure,
through the winding, narrowing dark
that leads perhaps,
towards the flickering kingdom
I could never dream to map.
JAN/FEB 2017 AUTHOR OF THE MONTH at Spillwords.com
Writing in the spaces between the hustle and noise. Poems published here and there, but nothing beats a poem brought to life in a live reading. Ex broadcast journalist (are we ever truly ex?), communications pro, mum, coast dweller.