I awake and welcome you in silence,
your sacred form lying still beside me,
sculpture worthy of Michelangelo’s
divine touch. Yet I know not even he
could recreate blessed flesh of you, softest
shadowed recess of your clavicle, sweet
valley home to my first kiss. Your firm breast
lifts slight as earth to my lips’ caress, greets
my tongue tip with your deepest breath’s response,
your body encapsulated in calm
trust. My passioned dreams used to reside once
in prayer for your presence, tempered by balm
of reality—conscious of fate’s clues,
and of your everlasting right to choose.
Roger Armbrust
January 15, 2012
