winding whirlpools...

A rushing smear of noise,
Darkness descends
With her orchestra of stars
Leaping out of placid smoothness
Looking as delicate as french lace
And every bit seductive as red.

An arrogant pleasure rakes her body
As she meanders through a sleeping kingdom.
Unperturbed, souls lie asleep in a cradle of dreams.
Abandoned by reality, they surrender
To the velvet blanket she brings along,
Slave to the basic instinct of sleep
They give into her charm and
Drown in the pull of a different world.

She, the high priestess, invokes deep slumber
Captures their deepest desires
Transforms them into dreams
Shocking intimacy?

She smiles mirthlessly,
Arms spread out, as if to show
That this is what she predicted.
She bursts out laughing,
With the abruptness of a cry.
She laughs, shaking like a child
The stars stand, mute spectators
To her sobs of deliverance.