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.