i have been with love
... too often ...
too often in the dark velvet of night
have i felt fumbling hands
reach for pleasure
too often have i rehearsed the same kiss
and tasted the yearning of smoky desire
too often have i listened to the murmur of a wounded heart
and whispered in return like a gentle surgeon
who refuses to speak of the terminal cure
too often have i rolled aside the covers
stood by a window
covered with the stain of sweet sweat
and with a trembling finger
traced the outline of a cold memory
in the moonlit mist and frosty patterns
of spent desire
too often forlorn or forsaken
until this night finds me
pushing aside the glassy pain
of all my yesterdays
and returning to your warmth in my bed
to celebrate
all our tomorrows
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