LOVER; AFTER SEVERAL YEARS HAVE PASSED, PERHAPS —

In the silent heavy hours of early morning

When every living thing seems still,

Seems to rest,

(And even the drag on a cigarette is loud,) Only your steady quiet breathing

next to me is life.

Your dark and rumpled hair

Still is fragrant with the scent of passion

Scarce an hour's age.

Your arm lightly lying on my arm.

Gives no hint of love's embrace

Scarce an hour's age.

This hand caresses the swimming trunk's lighter skin

Now gives no response in sleep to passion

Scarce an hour's age.

Ah me! That I had shared that passion

Scarce an hour's age.

-Charles K. Robinson

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