Sunday Morning

In the simple morning light
I feel your breathing on my arm.
Breath of laughter, voice of charm:
I’m in no hurry. I expect
Your waking kiss,

Claiming many mornings more,
Awake in bed, not saying much,
Relying on desire of touch;
As many yet, I wish, as from
Our first, to this.

Listen to this poem — read by the author