Before Dawn

If there is dew, before dawn, it's inside,
Not scattered on the grass or the dead leaves;
This is a dampness you, yourself, supplied,
And, as he presses on, your murmurs ease
The silence of the last hour of the night,
While you sleep on and he plays in your bed;
His need is ensconced in the moist delight
You will present to him, unknowing, wed
To any depredation, he might choose
To foist on you, knowing that your consent
Will be forthcoming, though, you will not lose
The veil of sleep, which he'll not lift, content
To sense your readiness: this must inform
The ways he'll tease, from you, dew before dawn.