Your warm breath,
moist and scented
with peppermint
and last nights wine,
slips past my ear.

My cheek, pressed
tightly to your breast
feels the muted beat
of your inner life.

I dare not sleep
for if I do
when I awake
I'll not find you,
beside me.

You will be gone
from out my sight
and simply vanished
in darkest night,
while I slept.

There are some stories, quite old,
About going prospecting for gold.
I'm sure you have heard them before,
As they are now part of Western Lore.
Searching through forests and bare hillside;
Walking most always but an occasional ride.
Searching and searching in rocks that erode,
Looking for the very elusive, "Mother Lode."
Hearing these tales, while around a fire,
Trying to determine if true or a liar.
No one will tell you, where it is found.
Only one place, deep in the ground.

It was at 5, in the morning hour
When a flash of words, did occur,
As I laid in bed. Four lines did emerge,
Written in my mind; no compelling urge
To arise from my toasty warm bed
And write them down, while in my head.
Alas, they are gone, far away from me
And now lost. No longer my reverie.

When the winds blow in, from the sea,
That is the time, I want to be,
Out on the water; the bounding main.
But alas and alack, never again,
Will I return to the sea.