He gives me that look <br />and I know what's coming. <br /> <br />I set down my book and we get to it. <br />For this long together we are better <br /> <br />than most. But lying there with him, <br />I lie, there, with him. <br /> <br />As a sunrise of lamplight crests <br />the timberline of his balding skull, <br /> <br />I experiment with words in exotic positions <br />rolling them, naked on my paper brain <br /> <br />until there is nothing more to say, <br />no ink left in the pen, <br /> <br />and we reach across each other <br />only to turn out the light.<br /><br />Lori Boulard<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-lover-of-sorts/
