Filtered light beckons me to movement
Dust motes swirl in the air
Muscles sore, straining against memory
Reaching up across the distance
The vast emptiness of cool sheets
Stretching to find submission
Compliant softness, arms welcoming
Hips unhinged with yes
No more as breath hitches
Fingers curl around silk and silver
No more, but yes whispered
In the morning
Valentine, 5 October 2014