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Two Selves

Suzanne Edgar

Nov 01 2011

1 mins

Switching off the bedside lamps
with tacit drowsy consent
we sigh, content, and close our eyes,
roll towards the centre.

Knees move up until we touch,
hands reach out to meet:
mine inside your larger one.
Our breathing slows and blends.

Under the rounded shell of the quilt
and settled, facing in,
our bodies form two halves of a nut,
complex, neat, compact.

And if in strange or fretful dreams
we shudder in restless sleep,
naked feet respond and slide
across to reassure.

The moon shines in through a glass door
that leads to a private garden:
roosting birds nestle and stir
up in the tall old trees.

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