Sent in a private message 3/23/06, not previously published.
Six hours 'fore the sun will peak
And sear the pale blue sky,
The pinkish yellow glow falls o'er
Your face, your breast, your thigh.
A gentle wind insinuates
Itself into your hair,
I gaze upon your sleeping form,
Oh, joy! to lie right there.
I feel a stirring; would caresses
Bring you out of your respite?
Do you dream of gentle loving
Now, before the the day is bright?
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