This morning

After the first night of being loved

I heard a disillusioned moth

Flopping to reach the morning sunlight.

And the sun,

Long fingers of it,

Come through the window

Picking out the dust in special corners.


In the pre-dawn hours

lying together

All arms and legs breathing

With the rain not so far away

And morning come too soon

I hoped never too see the sun again.

And now

Your face and the sun

Have made this room

With only ceiling sky

And avenues of sunlit dust



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