Steve Mount

I wake up happy, the hand of my lover on my chest.
Light from the window shines through the thin curtain
lighting her face, warming her cheek; her hair glows.
She turns lazily from her stomach to her back;
I sit up slowly so as not to wake her, and watch.
I see the vein in her neck throb and her chest rise.
She moves her arms, her legs, her head, stretching
the stiffness of the night from her muscles.
Then slowly her eyes open, just slits at first,
but then, fully wide. She smiles at me
and drags a hand across her eyes.
"Morning," she says.
I lean down to her and kiss her.
"Morning," I say.

This poem was written for a college poetry and fiction class, back in 1988. It was inspired by a girlfriend at the time -- her name escapes me.

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Last Modified: 08 Sep 1998

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