Dear Hypnos, the Greeks never truly knew you did they? They clothed you in a man's finery, called you brother of Thanatos and son of Night. But I know you better than that. I see your curves behind the masculine pretense; I hear the lilt in your laugh. I have never met the man whom could be as evasive as you, or as seductive. You have everyone climbing to your bed and you pick and choose your consorts with fickle glee.
Your wings fan me through the day making my eyelids heavy, but at night your ephemeral form slips from me, leaving me chilled by your mother's touch. Come back, enfold me, take me to your bosom and end your games.
You remain the unconquerable mistress.
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