Places Where We Are Free To Dream Poem by Ted Sheridan

I have no access to her heart
except this that is granted to me
through her eyes and her ears;
open to my words and my voice.

I rehearse all that is beautiful
about her. Behold it is a real beauty;
pasteurized with a true philocaly
Sweet as cream her alabaster skin….

With dimples exposed to me
beneath her sheer linen sheets
I am beckoned to her table;
I bring with me my hunger.

My thirst, my plans salivate
for a drink from such a chalice
all golden in color and perfectly
shaped to fit my erotic desires

To lie down with her in my arms
while the mushrooms take effect
and my words become silver clouds
to fill her precious heart and head….

2008 © TS