Morpheus’ Tryst

Well, no harm in dreaming! (A revision of an old one)

Fancy a glass of Beaujolais?

Both snug on the sofa, 
I chuckle at his banter,
until clock chimes suggest
we whisper goodnight

He fingers my ring –
yet bold lips brush mine;
a lingering feather-touch,
tantalizingly tender

leaving me gasping
as we sway in the doorway,
wide eyes scribbling messages;
titillations.

Warm breath tickles my neck;
smothered in sinfulness
I crave more,
then jolt awake
my heart drumming
to warbler’s early serenade.

My man sleeps –
I turn back to doze
daring
to dream again.