Just as I surrender myself over to the covetous night
and my concupiscence quiets it’s howling to a low drone,
a familiar, reposeful scent turns in it’s sleep from the wind’s disturbance.
I bask in it until there isn’t a sober vein in my being from your inebriant.
A calm sea need not be roused beneath those petal-like eyelids
and your form could deceive as a carved statue,
blanketed in ripples of cotton white.
But my panting thighs are polluted with the rush of your touch
and my heaving breasts with the dewdrops from your lips.
Nothing stares back nor replies to my fevered sighs
and I hear you heavily dreaming by my side
……or am I?
-Ivey
Dangerous Winters 