Portrait

I lift my head
from the pillow we were sharing.
My arm is draped over your bare shoulder,
encircling your neck,
your warm solid back toward me.
The yellow curtains (which
used to hang in my bedroom)
breathe softly in the open window
and eight o'clock sunshine
continues lovingly, without waking you,
playing the dark fringe of your lashes
against a handsome seraph's face.
Shall I kiss you now, disturb your dreams
just to see those eyes fluttter open
and quirk up at me,
in love and laughing?
Should I rest my head again behind yours,
fill myself with your indefinable
masculine smell of hair and skin,
let this moment
drift into a Sunday morning....
It's time you woke up anyway.

March 19, 1987

Next Poem | Previous Poem | Chronological Index | Title Index | E-mail the Author |www.erica-schultz.com