Going to bed in blushing morning
at 3.40 am Midsummer day.
I wake up an hour just prior noon.
The cat comes to bed and for once
she’s not trying to pull me up, but
lies down purring, fondled. I can’t
forget about the cropped beard you
have, dainty framing your jaw and
chin, exposing your mouth. Your
lower lip, so sensual and vulnerable.
I hate the very thought someone else
would touch your cheek.
I adore your profile, the refined
single line from top of the head to
occiput to neck – a skilled artist’s
brushwork. Your ear – a leaf as
shaped out of a genial craftsman’s
skill. I still desire its maze and
mystery. Your hands, solid with
those slender shaped fingers;
Yes, the whole shapely you,
fine-boned and slim,
I miss you…
But I leave bed and cat to make coffee.
It’s just another Swedish summer day,
sunny but chilly.