FEVER

Her shut eyes, soft and yielding—
as a ripening apricot
waiting nervous,
forlorn
in a wide white basin
where she is bathed
fragile as candlelight.

Her eyelashes, like fruit flies,
flirt with my gaze,
fluttering and flying awake
upon my fleeting kiss,
which enters her dream
as a terrorized horse,
huffing hot breathe, wet
upon her paralyzed skin.

written on 01/15/2011 by: Matt Kane