slumber

     By Christopher Bowman

The witching hour has past
... Gentle soul in slumber lies,
Soft cascading tangles crown soft perfection,
in deep repose breaths in nights cool demeanor,
breasts rise and fall,
clothed in shadow stand,
velvet reminders of such beauty possessed,
Yet unadorned seem all the more,
In vulnerability exposed.
Small hands,
lie calm at last,
no restless task involved,
seem fragile open
accepting moonlights loving cares
rests against curves revealed,
softly defined by brushstrokes of shadow and moonlight,
As if beneath the artist hand,
form refined by no small intention,
achieving in symmetry,
lovers landmark so recognized,
that even in silver moonlight raining down,
the fire portent is displayed,
yet in peaceful repose,
moonlight kissed,
perfection so softly sings,
her lovers mind in flights of dream,
does so imagine,
that sleep is forever denied in longing to possess,
not the form so lovingly displayed,
but the beauty that lies within...