Take your time

Two tortured vortexes
between two sets of legs,
tentacled and treacherous
tornadoes in the night,
mettle more than might
against mooring midnight.
Come, sleep, that gentle
and weightless giant
trickling through time
in tumultuous turning tides,
transcendent and tangible
but only in rearview mirrors,
clocks ticking deftly away,
and the ether of lost dreams.
Take firm that giant’s hand,
and come morning’s kiss
I’ll be waiting with the sun.

About today’s poem:
Sometimes putting you two to bed can seem like an eternity. Thankfully the muse speaks most fluently at night.

(dtn)

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