As I

as I trickle down her thighs

on the way to the bathroom


and the taste of her


on my tongue


to tell its story

of the moon


 and the lock–clasp-lock

of another day


eases the shoulders on the release



 this need in me


 in her


 as the pillow dent

lies warm for her



and the tom-tom savage in me

has now boiled


and the drawer

in her has opened


to soothe and to take

what she needs




in a moment

the pretence

of it


will hide

under the covers




in the snuggle

of our skin


now cooling in the night time air

and as raw as can be


and needing to touch


 much more



 than before


 the distant stars will meet

 and the tenderness

will again

 let us rest


until the next time