Drifting When the moon dozes, its orbit around earth forgotten, he peeks into my dream, worms his way in. His presence holds me hostage in REM, eyelids fluttering. He still needs to be needed, you see. He sweet-talks me, bids me roll back the stone from the tomb of old memories. His breath becomes a song in my ear, reminding me of what used to be sweet and so I open my arms, finally, to say yes, to hold him, yes, to bring it all back, but he has already wandered away, bored, to mess with some other old lover's dream. Pris Campbell ©2006 Art: Kimpt (no title) courtesy the old ArtMagik site Return to Poetry Index II Return to Homepage