A sweetly tasted dream.

Come not without thought by morning , as if that rest undeclared one's heart in vastly difference between the light of stars

For no other moon had watched the passions form and play, and seek in jealous envious eyes that brightly light of day

Frolicking like children in sheets of silken flesh amidst the nights sweet figurative language of love

What more could morning offer now, than a sweetly tasted dream, with a cotton wrapping of itself while longing moons still gleam

Where stars divinity capture mind, and sparkle dust upon your waking eyes, to be that certain twinkling star that captures your arise.