Sleep’s Soliloquy

Pining for her piper,
who’s composing passion’s play.
She’s longing for his star song
like a maiden in the hay.
The tune that leaves her swooning,
the tune of this crooning,
Appalachian balladeer.

In her loins she feels hunger and pain,
will the lightning ever pierce the rain?
With ruby red lips
and buoyant boudoir hips,
she hails the Lord of the dance.

Surrendering to sleep’s soliloquy,
her Lord appears quite mystically.
She dreams of love sublime,
of bodies and souls entwined.

These she cannot tear from her mind.

From the Grail of communion they sip,
into the chalice of primordial passion they dip.
With soft undulations
and ancient syncopations,
our maiden and her Lord eclipse.