We
lay together my arms wrapped around you until daylight; you sleeping,
my hands cupping your breasts, you holding them there where you had
drawn them, your breath coming in soft almost snores. Me, half
asleep, drifting twixt dreams and the warmth of you. Your skin set
fires burning in me where we touched, fires which glowed charcoal
bright with your being, fires which glowed deep into my sleep, deep
into my half waking, deep into the first light that showed faintly
around the shutters; deep inside me, warming to the centre of my
being, so I was not me, but me and you and us all in the same
boundaryless glow of warmth. A warmth of being, of man and humankind,
and woman crooked in the bend of my body and my double wanting of you
- sweet agony that was such bliss of the us-ness that I would have
not have cared if we had hung for ever just on the cusp of the moment
between sleep and love-making and the cries of our coming and the
soft drifts of setting aftermath awash with the echoes of our still
pulsing union. To make love, to half sleep, to almost dream, to lie
tight wrapped one with the other, to be suspended both in the now of
half conscious half dream sleep drift silk oblivion of night, and yet
not any but all of these in the same slow pulsing moments. Here, not
here, you, I, we, us, sleep, love, burning flesh touch, desires -
dreams dark envelope fading into light; drift of no time in each
whispered breath suspended in one package of double being - you and I
and us and sleep and not sleep and dark and coming light and the love
that we did not make, but made so deeply in being boundaryless,
suspended in that no-man’s no-woman’s land of neither sleep nor
wake.
