Rattling Carts

A milk cart rattles down the street outside;
The sun has barely risen, as I watch
Her sleeping form: her breathing’s like a tide
That ebbs and flows, so ceaselessly it stops
Me in my tracks, a while; then I caress
Her arm, that is exposed outside the sheet;
An arm, a strap, a shoulder: where to next?
I wonder if her soft, warm breast will greet
Me keenly as I touch and pinch and cup
Her bosom; when I tug that sheet right down
And pull her night clothes off; then I can sup
On female flesh and lodge the erect crown
Of my hard cock between her sleeping thighs,
Forgetting the rattle of carts outside…