11 p.m.

You are a creature of delirious fever.
I fantasize about what your skin must feel like.
How you are, in your most natural of states.
I would map every groove and curvature.
And every hidden place of you.
A cartographer lost in a new world.

How I dream of you.
Always you are there, in the darkness.
A phantasm never laying to rest.
Flitting from thought to shadow, shadow to thought.
Oh, you are the wild thing in my mind.
The ravenous thing.
The sinful thing in me.

M. M.

"Come to rest"

Come to rest, the surge had ceased
A tempest of unspoken hurt
Once wild, now still
Inside, a world had been built
Edifices of glass and light
An Eden in a forest of darkness
Harried by onslaught after onslaught
Kilometer-high waves had come once and again
But now the sky expanded, azure and clear
The sounds of the world sung themselves
Softly now – a breeze, a whisper
And at least sleep, a sweet slumber
And stillness, deep, there in the world

M. M.