We're getting closer to current work - this one I found scribbled on a piece of paper from a few months ago (even when I stopped writing on a regular basis, sometimes stuff would just spill out of me). I worked on trying to perfect the parallelism between the two major stanzas and fell a little short, but I think it still works.
Cruel Sandman
I dreamed of you last night.
Not the dreams of my witching hour,
filled with my body surrendered to your strong arms and dirty mouth (dirty words in my ear),
your seed between my legs and dirty smile on my face.
Those dreams I keep locked away for a lonely afternoon, a stormy night,
a random Wednesday morning.
But not this dream.
This dream came from Sandman,
and he sent me a dream not of your lust,
but of your love.
My body wrapped in your strong arms and clean hands (you whispered clean love in my ear),
the only seed spilled was on my kitchen counter from cut fruit – sweet like the smile on my face.
I sat on your lap while you told me all your dreams and held me close like a man in his true weakness for something more than just me in his bed on a lonely afternoon, stormy night, or
random Wednesday morning.
Unacceptable, Sandman.
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