Sleep Iiii Poem by Morgan Michaels

What shall I tell you about my lover, Sleep?
Sometimes the dews and the dawnlight
Find me with her still, possessive, I
Like a slain bird beneath her cat's paw.
Reluctantly, she says she must go. I say 'No',
And cling to her, but she purposely shakes herself free,
Leeps to the sill, and swathed in it's glow
Faces the new-risen sun. The
Diamond in her ear sparkles a little sec.
She nods farewell and momentarily I see, again,
The deep cleft in her chin. Spreading her wings
She sails to the nether-side of the world
For she loathes the depicting light-perversity
Of Beauty that cannot bear to be seen.