Wednesday, September 07, 2005

Not quite midnight

It's not quite midnight, but I had poetry stuck in my head again, so here it is.

Warmth

My husband
says mysterious things at night,
asleep, nested in my arms
"where you are, I am,"
he proclaims.

when questioned further, he only
burrows deeper into my skin
until all I can taste is the warm smell of him.

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