GOOD MORNING SUN
It began as knotted sheet toil; to turn
away the first warm renderings of Spring
twittering golden beggary -
to taunt my lazy loins
through half filtered slats.
How now, does that slit of puritan light
widen its long-puckering tentacles
across my spread,
razing into the transoms of my soul
capable yet of refocusing on nothing -
yet, remembering it all.
I am exposed,
thrown open upon the bedroom sill
of almost beyond memoirs
where time honored apiece caresses
tickling about my ankle-socks -
the pleasure stretch
dazzling in ever-fresh shawls
upon these sun-bruised cheeks
for those few recaptured hours
spent in virginal bliss.