I woke, my hands dreaming on her thighs <br />the sun in the window, Morning Glory, <br />a robin in the holly. <br />Seems an age since last we kissed <br />memory's yesterday lingered <br />fresh as new mown hay. <br />She was sleeping so I thought, <br />does not stir as I raise my head <br />to touch her tempting breasts, but <br />she was woman and not asleep, <br />those breasts are proffered. <br />She looked at me and smiled <br />I drew my hand from dreaming <br />tried to move away, her thighs <br />closed round the welcome palm <br />so we lay as yester' eve. <br />I loved the soft silk gown, <br />thought I felt it now. <br />In the night my love slipped the dress. <br />Butterfly out of its chrysalis, <br />seeking the morning glory, <br />wings expanded wanting flight and me. <br />The sun rose high, no longer in the window <br />the robin too has gone his way. <br />Sunday bells rang out, their noisy cries ignored, <br />another day perhaps, perhaps another day.<br /><br />John Rickell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/morning-glory-27/
