Each night when he comes to me we lay there very still,
Not a word is spoken, not a word is said, of each we'll have our fill.
I feel he's hands around me as he draws me to he's skin,
The way I feel about him must surely be a sin.
He holds me to he's nakedness he; s breath is long and slow,
I pray that this will last all night that he will never let me go.
I have felt he's kiss so tender and I've also felt he's tears
And when he holds me close like this I know that heaven is very near.
But I will never kiss him nor tell him not to go,
Because I am not so real you see,
I'm just he's damn pillow!
Ruth warren
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/wishful-thinking/
