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