Room at Dawn
I awake as light spills in
hear water-splash against the sink
and imagine your attention
to your face, lathered, trimmed
of last night’s darkened growth.
I curl around my pillows
draw yours closer, listen as
your wing-tip shoes brush soft
against the plush of carpet.
“Morning sleepy head,” you say
and lean to kiss my lips as I
rush a smile into your
wide embrace, press my palm
into you’re your tie, yellow silk,
smooth as your cheek on mine.
Ready for your morning meeting, yet
you’re not moving toward the door...
And later when you’re late and gone
I think that if I have a million
days and ten million nights
I will still want more of you
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