Many a time I wonder still

Whether dreams, in sleep, would spill

And leak on the pillow beneath my skull

Scent it with musings in my lull

I worry if some of my dreams, too dark,

Would leave a stinking oil-black mark

Yet, good dreams might come to stick as well

Bleach the blemishes, sweeten the smell

To be frank, I really don’t care

Odor or smear, I make no stare

Revealing my subconscious is what I concern

Dreams on display for the world to learn

But wait, what’s this? I fixed my eyes

A moist patch of pillow to confirm my surmise

With a throbbing heart, I made a sniff

As cautiously as walking near a cliff

A familiar whiff went up my nose

Suspense is dropped, the case is closed

I turned my head, sighed, and thought,

“Goodness, I really do drool a lot.”