Waking
By h jenkins
Tue, 02 Aug 2016
- 447 reads
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.
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