Hawk Visits Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

One wing under the edge of your pillow.
Quiet is the order of the night.
Your breath is a gentle breeze,
ruffling my feathers.
You don't snore and you smack a bit:
It's an intriguing sound.

Stirring now, stretching a calf muscle,
your face is flushed, your nose pale.
Eyelashes arranged like angelfingers, neatly,
and the mere hint of a dimple lives on your chin.

Your breasts rise as you inhale;
how I would love to be with them,
to love them. I curse the Gods
who gave us forbidden things.

And who gave us time,
an entity of cruel deeds.
Excuses have a knife-like quality;
it cannot be what must not be.

The rules are not for happiness
as misery they always bring.
And freedom is a penalty:
By being free I hurt another.

Contented cows, you must be happy,
no conflicts to disturb the peace.
I quietly now leave your bed
and dream about the dimple on your chin.