You are naked again, this time
bending over the bed, tending to me
as though I were your only lover.
It is no use crying over lost horizons
in the long stray hours of morning;
this is far better than I had hoped.
You kiss me gently, your moist lips parting
upon touching, first my forehead,
both my eyelids, and then my mouth
as if you were making love to me
slowly, surely with just your mouth
for the first time, all over again.
If you've any comment on this poem, Mark Murphy would be pleased to hear from you.