His sleep was troubled, twisted in the sheet,

His skin pricked, fired by internal heat.

A shadow flitted dark across his eyes,

Within the shadow lay the price, the prize.


His thoughts fragment, as seen in a scrying glass.

Turned to her, or all that might come to pass.

The sense of her, damp, delicious, soft-scented

Rose to his mind, with images invented.


Her face, her smile, the curve of hip and breast

Woke his body, elbow-sharp lust broke his rest.

The spark of her image lit a fire,

Heated the burning cauldron of his desire.


Fully awake, intense, alive, he moaned

Her name. Lost, he was owned.