'Where Those Two Sleepers Are..'

Sunday night poetry.

I have had a long Sunday, a little too long for my liking. I am looking forward to getting into bed tonight; I have a feeling I will be missing it once I start my new job this week!
So, enjoy this sleepy poem, imagine it being spoken in a low, hushed voice...

The Sleepers - Sylvia Plath

No map traces the street
Where those two sleepers are.
We have lost track of it.
They lie as if under water
In a blue, unchanging light,
The French window ajar

Curtained with yellow lace.
Through the narrow crack
Odors of wet earth rise.
The snail leaves a silver track;
Dark thickets hedge the house.
We take a backward look.

Among petals pale as death
And leaves steadfast in shape
They sleep on, mouth to mouth.
A White mist is going up.
The small green nostrils breathe,
And they turn in their sleep.

Ousted from that warm bed
We are a dream they dream.
Their eyelids keep the shade.
No harm can come to them.
We cast out skins and slide
Into another time.

(photos found on tumblr,) Goodnight everyone. Sleep tight. See you in the morning.