Morning Glory

 
 
 
I woke, my hands dreaming on her thighs
the sun was in the window
morning Glory, a robin in the holly.
Seemed an age since last we kissed
yesterday's memories lingered
fresh as new mown hay.
She was asleep or so I thought,
did not stir as I raised my head
to touch her tempting breasts,
but she was woman and not asleep,
those breasts were proffered.
She looked at me and smiled
I drew my hand from dreaming
tried to move away,
but her thighs were closed round the welcome palm.
So we lay as yester' eve.
I loved the soft silk gown, thought I felt it now
but in the night my love had slipped the dress
a butterfly out of its chrysalis,
sought the morning glory,
wings expanded wanting flight, and me.
So the sun rose high, no longer in the window,
the robin too had gone his way.
Sunday bells rang out, their noisy cries ignored,
another day perhaps, perhaps another day.