Underneath plush cover of cotton.
A healing hand in repose.
As if, a wanting to be disposed.
I regard too much, while grasping the outstretched sleeping gesture.
‘too much love!’
between the warming waves.
There is an oft instinct to fit that love with a masking glove.
Trials and tribulations sometimes, come like thieves to memories in the dusky air.
Too much of love, has come, handle with care.
How easy it is for a closeted romantic…
To question beyond the here and now.
beyond the walls of sleep.
I do not let go.
Do not let go…the healing hand of love.
A conquest of my questionable foes.