Waking

I’m often awoken by the passerine choir,

Not conscious exactly, but nor am I dreaming.

My love lies beside me, the spring of desire,

Her soft lips are rosy, her golden hair gleaming.

I think of those evenings, the glow of the fire,

The games she devises, her naughty/nice scheming,

Weaving new wonders in alluring attire,

And claiming rewards for all tokens redeeming.

Still half asleep, I turn over to face her,

Presuming no more though my ardour is showing.

A lift of grey eyes as I move to embrace her,

A shift of long legs and a smile full of knowing.

Love and desire are compulsions combined,

The essence of two souls forever entwined.