• Propped up by a tent of crossed staves
    There the object of my haunting lay.
    Through narrowed lips and with wistful gaze,
    It beckoned me over, and bade me to stay.

    That even the gentlest caress
    Sufficed, to set the pendulum in motion;
    Speaks of rebirth past a life of rest,
    Rendering the heart replete with emotion.

    Heads lulled back, eyelids moist with morning dew,
    Our bodies rocked to the creaking of joints.
    When first light dyed the sky a golden hue
    I turned to rest, but was stopped midway

    By tightened grip. "What’s the rush?” It cooed,
    Then slid over and made room for two.