Burgundy Sheets

We meet in the early morning hours

between sheets the colour of wine.

I hold you close

& I know that you are mine.

I slip into your room,

I know it well even though it is dark.

You awake silently as I slip off

my clothes & press my cool skin

against your warmth.

You awaken to my touch

& our sense come alive.

A gentle kiss; an embrace from behind;

& you know that I am yours.

The burgundy sheets know us well,

they know our sporadic love

meets between their threads

when the neighbours sleep

& when spouses are away.

It is you my lover, my love,

who brings me to places I have

not been to for so long, so easily;

no walls, no barriers amongst

the maroon sea.

For it is between these burgundy sheets

that have begun to fade because of

our rubbing; the washing; the rubbing;

that we learn that love has wrapped its

arms & legs & fingers & toes

around us.

Morning has arrived & we sweat.

The window is fogged in; the cats

want out.

We still hunger for each other yet

time is up; like we are on some type

of stop watch that neither of us control.

We leave the burgundy sheets &

know that they lie touching against

each other; waiting until we meet again.