Enyo’s Dream of Azrael
As much as I’d like to know.
When I wake, all my visions go.
When I sleep, I can see him, I can touch his face.
No need to tell anyone else.
I’d like to keep him for myself.
When I need him, and I reaching to touch his face.
It always stops there.
Like we have morals or a care.
With his fingers in my hair.
Our bare bodies chilled to the air.
At some points he’d whisper my name.
As a reply, I’d do the same.
Then I wake, feeling the pain.
And in this, I go insane.
I could sleep, and it will happen again.
But my dream is starting to wear thin.
For us to conjure up sin.
This is why I like to sleep in.