Though not yet spring,
this winters night embraces its promise.
With unusual warmth inside my room,
the bed covers smother and are discarded.
To let my skin feel the night
My body unwrapped, sups from the fresh air
that flows stealthily.
Though sleep evades , its invitation lingers , closing eyes,
reality fades and is replaced by dreams’ yearnings.
And with the absence of another,
my sculptors hand moves with fingertips caressing fevered skin.
And winters companions ,goosebumps mark the trail.
Sensuously exploring for the journeys sake.
An artists imagination enlivened.
Small feet wander to cool sheet zones.
A mermaids conjured waters.
Dip and trace fluidly.
While limbs follow obediently,
amongst feather filled folds of quilted bedscape.
Undulating to the horizon
All rapture to these seeking synapses,lazily chasing sensation.
And though alone,
a hundred sculptors before me join the passage of hand
following form…Gods creation.
Unmatched in any studio.
Belonging to another , I am detached,
and floating behind tangible sensations drunk from skin and swelling curve.
Still warm from its discarded wrapping.
Slumber entices with its oblivion.
Lucidity is conscious of its aftermath
that waft and wend its way through deeper places.
Unabated , unchecked and brave.
Merely making way for new beginnings.
I drift in its wake and dreamlike world surrounds.
Enveloping and coveting memories.
As my artists tender hand sooths this restless spirit
it pays homage to the unseen artist supreme