Seraphic Slumber


One of my favorite things about him is the way we sleep.
With clumsy feet, we tangle our limbs like bare branches,
dancing penumbras along his popcorn-flaked wall.
I’ve never experienced anything like this before –
this beautifully vulnerable intimacy.
The kind where you remain one inch from each other’s
face, and still, star-crossed and googly-eyed, find
the other to be a sugarcoated kind of irresistible.
In one way or another, we are always touching when
we doze in a dulcet haze.
No, I am not always wrapped in his arms, but his knees
find the crevice in the back of my legs, and I feel his lips
breathe against my shoulder blade, against the ink
that he inspired me to inscribe on my naked body.
Sometimes we hold hands, my fingers tickle into the
lines of his bungalow palms, and my soul stirs
effervescent even in sleep.
Even in dreams, he is a welcome ghost that haunts
my heartbeat and visits me under reverie willow trees.
It is a still breeze, tranquil respiration, the rise and fall
of chests, the emptying of lungs, and the
welcoming of night air unearthing sunset songs.

– Samantha Prasad


  1. Gorgeous as always!! Been gone for a bit but always happy to run into your work 🙂

    • Seriously, you always leave the kindest words! (And I’m glad you are back, by the way) – your writing is stellar. 🙂

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