In early dawn I merged in the generous
warmth of you, enfolded in coherent body
heat, absorbing energy to beat the bitter cold.
Even in sleep you knew I stole from you
and you gave forth to fortify my need.
I rose to greet the first ice-rays of sun
while you lay on in a cocoon of rational
warmth, asleep with the meter running.
Yesterday we disagreed on which exact
day you would choose to keep for you;
you chose Thursday. I was at pains to say
I need you take a day unto yourself but
cannot make commitment just which one
would suit. It appears that I disputed thus in jest;
I am wise to your ways – you only seem asleep.
In a soft light of this new morn where dewy
dawn has broken, the air sweet with birdsong,
I can agree. Thursday is to be your day.
© 1 May 2007, I.D. Carswell
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