Sacrifice to Morpheus

26 April 2010

An electric cock crows;
Eyelids snap back before
The brain can kick in
And the morning
Reply with a boot of its own.

My mood shrinks in the shadow
Cast long by the tumescent day,
Withering before
Even it has its root.

Blood and flesh and skin,
Enmeshed with displaced fibres
Spun from soft white bolls,
Remain uninspired,
Prostrate and contented.

So urgency nestles with motivation,
A firm yet subtle touch
Caressing it to arousal
In taut anticipation of

An ouroborosian dance
That raises me gloriously
To the needs of the day,
And in whose climax
I am freed.

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