When The Sun Comes Up

When the sun comes up
I stopped to dream
and my consciousness
dreamed with me
of ragged cheeks
and softly spoken
half truths
which barely ring
a chord.

But once or twice
I was taken apart and released
to dream
to dare
to do
to touch that part of myself
which needs a silent caress.

To soft to touch and
hollowed out
like an old fashioned ball
of string.
To gaily tie and wait
a while
and search for precious things.

Precious things we
barely see
but know are always
there
beneath the remains
of satin stains
and burgeoning relief.

I know they're there
they have to be
beneath the old gum tree.
In that secret unbeknowen
place
shared by you and me.

We'll take us there and wait
awhile
while what is precious
remains
that thing between us
seldom seen us and
our saligacious smile.

by Shaun McGurgan

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