I miss the ability to pluck from your featherbed what I hold dear
and you deem precious
I would by route
distract you with these well rehearsed false impressions
In softer muffled tones and spice riddled
Affirmations and accents
To teach,
and unlearn your mother’s cavet lector lessons
While the plum hue of my intentions gets the better of
me;
it mercifully remains hidden
at least partially in the dim light from where we are sitting
Cradled in an overstuffed button punch loveseat
leaving me in this pitiable condition

I want to forget my own vision and see you in
purposeful poses
Positioning the lotus for me to notice
Your ambiance wafting in the air like summer roses

I swear

I swear the swans have traversed the lake
and upon the shore of your submission have landed
and here I stand
At this moment the sum of my weakness and glands
and all of this why?
So I may pluck the daylights from your star’s
forbidden sky
Until exhausted you fall breathless into the slumber’s hands
©2010 J. K. Bradford