David McLansky

(5/24/1944 / New York City)

Get Up, Get Up, My Sleepy Lover


Get up, get up,
Why do you sleep;
There’s time enough
When I shall weep;
At your silence
Deep and profound
When you’ll be laying
Underground;
But for now
While you’re abed
Shall I let the
Dog
In
To stir your head
You lift the quilt
Stirred by his motion
I feel some guilt
By this commotion
But you lift your head
And I’m relieved
You are not dead.
I perceive;
He noses his way
Under the covers
To smell your warmth
And add another;
At this I gently shut the door;
It’s four o’clock, I discover

Submitted: Monday, March 17, 2014
Edited: Monday, March 17, 2014

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