The Morning

We welcomed the darkness of the evening before
As the still night tiptoed across our space,
The world of daylight readily forgotten
Treading softly to heaven at measured pace.

The kisses and touches and bodies responding
To arousal of passion, which ultimately devours
Our separate selves as fused into one,
Then tenderness and peace of the remaining hours.

That spark of love flowed through our fingers,
There are times when we have no need
To feel the pulse of this love which lingers,
with its passion from which we are freed.

The night dissolves into a strange calmness,
The reason for which I do not understand,
Maybe it is the calming of my soul,
From the love you gave me touching my hand.

by E.W. Mayo

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