How deep have we become
that i awaken drowning in caresses and my
only words contain the taste of
seeing you again?

Are we less pure if in this poem
we lietogether and
my rhymes translate the hand
upon your breast than if i banter
& lie with you?

o do you know, my love, although i crave the
passion and i dream of you with nothing on,
my favourite is the one which is no
dream at all: in which i am awake beside
you, and we do not touch because you
are still sleeping

andi am

breathing a thousand LOVEYOUs into your hair
quietly (for fear of waking
you into the realities of my love
too soon)

And in the wonder of you and of what
we have found i and my poetry are
naked as the morning,
           as moonrise,
           as fields of little flowers,

as kisses


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