Indian inkwells

Last night I fantasised that I was swallowed by your eyes,
a dream it seems but oh how real to almost feel you feeding on me.

Tell me who
does not dream
and I’ll show you
an empty tomb.

flesh and blood
I am.

And then I wake
and have to shake my head
set free the fantasy
go on with the day
hoping to see

when every day may be the last
when each and every minute
passes by,
to get by
I remember
last night
when I was food
for your eyes

© 2017, John Smallshaw.