Trains roar by our cheap cotton paradise
And shake our twining limbs
And day pours in
On sun-warmed skin
And speaks of your life,
and your absent wife.
And though I know our precious night
May show up shabby in the light
Here, where you sleep,
Is Eden,
Is pure, perfect joy.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 4:03 AM UTC