under the covers

out of the wrist of my dreams, zephyrs

of my confidential scents are unchained

in his moments to [bring to him my joy]

evoked by the symphony of the senses

with a charming potion of my charisma

I'm smoothing his spirit in its assembly

for in musical notes, I'm under the covers

enough to chase away miserable thoughts

and his peculiar embroidered nightmares