Missionary Hours

 In the early hours mostly,
when joints and joists creak their last,
before life echoing off the walls,
sounding out another day to begin,
to get up for.

In those quiet hours as I lay in bed
when it seems it's just me alive in the world,
though that's not really quite truthful,
though I doubt you'd know a thing about it,
what with my imagination as it is,
flirting along with you to the same thought,
and quite amazing it is, every time my mind
goes wandering, am I found to be satisfied
along with you on top of me
listening in silence as the dawns approach
to our breathing settling down once more,
the sweat of our moment shared on my skin.