How lovely would it be if he reads a poem every night to me

A sudden thought just came to me
How lovely would it be?
To lay on the outstretched arm of my lover
And in the other he holds a book of poems.

Instead of fairy tales, he reads to me
In a gentle lilting voice:
A poem about love, war, death, beauty
His droll accents lulling me to

Enter a dreamland in which
He and I would forever remain together
Wild, free and sleeping on a bed
Of foliage so green, so soft

Where we lay every night, my head
On his arm and his lips so close to my head,
As he whispers ever so gently
Lyrical words crafted by someone (or him).

Something intrudes my dream!
The whispers turned into peals of
Wailing bells, too too too mechanical,
What is my lover turning into?

O for *blip* sake, nothing but my beeping alarm.
Snatching me from my lover’s arm.
Shut up shut up, tossed my bolster aside (he vanishes).
Rudely awakened. Sigh. Will he visit me tonight?

- 2 April 2014