Lying ‘cross the crook of my legs

 

 

 

by L. Stewart Marsden

Lying ‘cross the crook of my legs

She neither complains

Nor does she beg a thing from me,

Content is she to comfort there

And hope that I might stroke her hair

Or not,

It’s not that she must have my hand

Or have my voice

Or have my love —

She doesn’t think those things aloud

But nestles in quite close to me

Where she can relish in the warmth

And share her inner feelings there —

The beating of her tiny heart

The nuzzling of my sleep-dead arm

The licking of my stubbled face

She is content in all of these

Lying ‘cross the crook of my legs.

 

Copyright © by L. Stewart Marsden, 23 May, 2014