Babylon

The binding air, heat surrounds me,
fire-circles dance on walls near and far,
meandering slowly in quiet, staccato patterns
that thrill and soothe, a soliloquy of light and comfort.

Stretching and yawning and reaching for her,
my late morning Sunday, a contented yearning
missing and longing, questioning nothing,
our kisses blind and routine but
intense, important and elegant, memorable.

As we finish and morning approaches,
the world turns upright and day is here,
us knowing our morning is profound,
worthy of blankets and warmth,
a wandering gaze and hopeful that night
comes soon, and never leaves.