Night visitor

Those are not
the sheets you feel
slip sliding over
your sleeping skin,
but these, my hands,
come wandering
across a thousand seas

my silken palms
have sailed the wind

seeking a golden smoothness
on your thigh
sweeping the sweet bowl
of your belly flesh
the subtlest softest

pillow of your breast
and now 

with phantom fingertips
I trace your velvet nipples
trace your lips
I taste your tongue
I kiss your neck

your back

your hips

I rove among the stars
and find you
shed bone and blood and skin
to race the sky
and find you

I become the breeze
and wind these spirit arms
around you
in an astral cloud's embrace
I bind you

Baba Yaga

Baba Yaga creeps
on chicken legs
down the dark night street
claws patches
of rain black clouds
from the sky
and pastes them to the attic window

I know it's her
I can hear her fingernails
trapping on the glass

She croaks my name
with her frog voice

if she wanted
she could slide in
through the window crack
and snack on my heart
while I sleep

I wouldn't mind
I would feel her breath on my skin

that would be enough