For you could not weary me in waking With word, half-words, the silences we share; For I lie here beneath your moon, still making Small rhymes to fill the hours in place of prayer. For you move in ways of no explaining Which make a little myriad of joys; For I find there a place to meet my pain in Your saying 'keep in touch' - in that still voice. Four you are what I want to touch - your cheek, The curve behind your knees, a scented wrist, Your hands, your hair, the soft heat of your neck, The spring tide of your breath beneath your breast. For I sitll wake and turn to where thought lingers, For you have taught your shape to these fond fingers.
 
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