MY love is like crisp, clean
, cool and smooth against
my skin, caressing; he --
enfolds me, wraps
me, keeps me just-warm-

The intriguing creases of him, which
smile at me when he sits
rumpled on a chair, disappear
into flawless evenness
when I spread him
across my bed, where

he lies, fresh --
still, passive-seeming, but
tempting; seducing me
by being there,
by being silently, sensuously
ready to have me
slip between him
and the cover.

My laundered love
will touch me
while I sleep.

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