So, I cry this dream,
Tearful and honeycombed.
Sweetened memories stick to my face.
Tongue flicks out to catch a taste
Of honey-salted tears.
I don’t want to soothe your pain,
I’m so tired, so tired.
Can I please find my own bed
And rest instead?
Real sweetness comes in lying down
With an empty head, no worries,
Be happy, with a sunrise instead,
Creeping over the headboard.
Wisps of childhood dreams
Replaced by scent-memories
Of sausage, eggs, toast and Mom,
Mom, taking care of everything.
Ah, to be taken care of,
There’s the magic.
The sweetness of releasing,
Letting the tears flow like honey.
©2008 Joanne Sprott