I have given up
fearing that you will crush me,
now I know you will.
It seems easier
to resign myself to it,
sleep in your shadow.
I’m in too much awe
of the many things you are:
devil and angel.
Slumbering under
your overhanging presence,
waiting for the end.
In the lea of you,
my dreams are fertile, obscene,
nothing stirs but stars.
Foolish to trust the
dreams of sheltering sleepers
or lost mad women.
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