The things left unmentioned
Are those that fit best into a dream
Where silent sullied whispers
Cannot brush against
nor touch your skin...
Nor could they offend you.
Beneath the sheets of lust
I burrow.
head home in swathes of
cotton shroud shame
On countless nights I'll devour you...
Yet you'll never scream my name...
I never dare to let you in
For fear the dream might end
there....
