Of slumber and pillow sham

Pale and tangible

In the moonlit armour

 

The firery red flowing

Making way through your auburn

 

The air’s so crisp and musty

With your scent

 

Flowing unhindered

Slithering down the bed

 

A dozen down but still

Far from Sated

 

Always a thrill, the sight
Of ashen faces with pillow cases