If Sleep Were A Flavor Of Tea

If sleep were a flavor of tea
The heart of the leaves like a drug
When taken in warm in the eve
Would dispatch the wakeful at length

If sleep were a color of paint
It’s qualities captured in brush
When spread on the canvas and seen
Would lull any eye into dreams

If sleep were a note on the scale
The sound like an ambient hum
When struck in the silence and heard
Could seduce and subdue with its verse

If sleep were a kind of perfume
A subtle narcotic of scent
When tested and taken in breath
Could trigger the symptoms of death

If sleep were a texture of skin
A soothing serene sort of touch
When pressed against lips and returned
Could quiet the senses and calm

Then I should be perfect at rest
Asleep as the sleep of the dead
If sleep were as simple as this
And the senses alive in my head

But sleep is a shadow that fades
In the light of my wishes and pleas
Alone without sense and in wishing I wish
That sleep were a flavor of tea

But I have no tea and no paint
No music nor scent to imbibe
No kisses to take me to comfort
No help for exhaustion tonight

And so I have nothing to dream
And nothing in which to recline
No sense of the senses to sense
No picture for my frame of mind

Alone in the quiet I write
And wait for the final repose
Till near me you’re able to be
Or sleep is a flavor of tea

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