Inclinations

Before you sleep, they'll warn you I will press
a baleful eye to keyholes. Seek this route
to my desires. Nocturnal kisses suit
me well, for shrinking violets rarely taste best.

My congress with your mouth would not impress
a nest of nightingales. If my dark fruit
is rotten through to dawn, this foiled pursuit
will be so secret, it's unknown to all.

I'm addressed through your dreams. Misreading signs,
I'll fire my need with candles so extinct,
volcanoes will erupt before these flame.

They will not fuel my hopes nor my designs,
defused and so extricable, just linked
to futile inclinations while you sleep.