Nocturnal Visitation

von Marcus Krug

Sleep comes heavy,

Descends upon me,

As a long day’s exhaustive pleasance.

Also as something else’s presence.

 

A gentle breeze at the nape of my neck,

It is warm, but also a bit moist.

I feel a kiss on my forehead’s speck,

Like a whisper, only unvoiced.

 

Five fingers comb through my dishevelled hair,

And a scream dies in my throat.

I’m entirely confused and in utter despair,

And suffocated by a leaden coat.

 

Is this what I believe to be the peak?

Something wet slides slowly across my sensitive cheek!

 

I want to, but can’t move an inch,

My only response has to be just a flinch.

 

Then the dream suddenly ends, as quick as it came,

It still is dark, no light, all the same.

 

It chills me right down to the bone,

What I see on this gadget of mine,

As I reach out to my phone,

To check for the actual time.

 

A picture of me, sound asleep,

Much to my chagrin,

And a strange old crone, down on me,

Licks my very exposed skin.