A wet wad of tissue

on the wicker, bed-side table.

Your long, deep, moans

echo in my ears, still.

Misty, shrouded sun rising

and blueing sky

filter through gauzy, white-cotton-lace curtains

hanging in front of our big bay bedroom window.

A lovely, drained, pause in the usual

morning mechanics.

Where even a necessary visit to the loo

is easily put off a while for you,

letting us linger in the unexpected

but always welcome moments of –

after.

Of, “You only have to ask.”

My face rests between your warm breasts,

in that sweet and musky hollow…

If I must die, someday,

breathless, somewhere,

there is only one other

desirable softness I know

into which I might –

home.

But either will do

as long as it is you…..

So,

I doze.