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Some Unsuitable Thoughts for a Dreamer
I lie in the red room swathed
By damask fire; scarlet, crimson, gold.
I protect and hold each long boned mortal
As they live, die, are born in my breast
Harbouring familiar ghosts and
Ancient flesh with equal want and vigour.
My arms twist high above my head
In shelter from the plaster sky,
And upon my musty covers embroidered
Unicorns fight lions for the crown.
I wait alone through the long daylight hours
Yearning to cradle some sleeping boy or girl
With their thoughts of sex and far off lands.
Till at night, when I welcome their silken limbs,
And my lace work, where so many spiders cling,
Trembles with each beat of the heart,
Each slumbering beauty's dreams.
Emma Davies
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