One wing under the edge of your pillow. <br />Quiet is the order of the night. <br />Your breath is a gentle breeze, <br />ruffling my feathers. <br />You don't snore and you smack a bit: <br />It's an intriguing sound. <br /> <br />Stirring now, stretching a calf muscle, <br />your face is flushed, your nose pale. <br />Eyelashes arranged like angelfingers, neatly, <br />and the mere hint of a dimple lives on your chin. <br /> <br />Your breasts rise as you inhale; <br />how I would love to be with them, <br />to love them. I curse the Gods <br />who gave us forbidden things. <br /> <br />And who gave us time, <br />an entity of cruel deeds. <br />Excuses have a knife-like quality; <br />it cannot be what must not be. <br /> <br />The rules are not for happiness <br />as misery they always bring. <br />And freedom is a penalty: <br />By being free I hurt another. <br /> <br />Contented cows, you must be happy, <br />no conflicts to disturb the peace. <br />I quietly now leave your bed <br />and dream about the dimple on your chin.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hawk-visits/
