Philip Booth


Beside you,
Lying down at dark,
My waking fits your sleep.

Your turning
Flares the slow-banked fire
Between our mingled feet,

And there,
Curved close and warm
Against the nape of love,

Held there,
Who holds your dreaming
Shape, I match my breathing

To your breath;
And sightless, keep my hand
On your heart's breast, keep

On your sleep to prove
There is no dark, nor death.
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