Insomnia Whispers

movingfinger
movingfinger Posts: 117
edited October 2006 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
Insomnia Whispers

I lay and wait
As the echo of a midnight murmur
dies in her chest.
Head pressed to breast,
It is amazing how quietly
Her lungs capture
And process oxygen.
Much more quiet than my own.
It could be that her breasts
Act as dampers
Large, fleshy, pillows
Of sound inhibition
Nearly blocking--
But not quite--
The sound of her heart.
Softly, thump… thump… thump
She rolls over, gently pushing me aside,
And says to me, still in the grip of sleep,
“I love you.”
And I wonder that if in dreams
It is possible to lie.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it

-- Omar Khayyam

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