Mara

Mara, now that you
lie sleeping, curled up, half
beneath the quilt - the small
of your back uncovered, smooth
and healthy - it's not cold

enough to shy away from touching
the still morning. I
would want more time, just
a minute or so, to sit
on my edge of the bed

and look at you, sleeping:
at the promise, as yet unkept,
of your limbs' curve and
your breasts' lazy rhythm
in the slow covers, and how

you implicitly trust
in life ere the day's sway
spoils the moment... but I
have to get going. Still,
I will remember this.