XXI.
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LAST MORNING
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It is our last morning.
You rise up from the whiteness of the bed
like a breaking wave.
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You move about the room.
I watch the sleek movements
of your naked body,
smile at the force of energy
so happily coursing through you.
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It is springtime in Prague.
I am your illicit lover,
your graying back door man.
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You are the radiant dawn,
the white core of my being;
you are my sanctuary.
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In time we will leave this room
and walk out into the cobblestoned streets,
begin our journey
away from one another. Sighing,
I will get on a slow train
heading west.
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For now
we are here together,
naked, and my eyes,
as always, are upon you.
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You move slowly,
every motion you make,
every gesture you give away
designed for my pleasure.
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We will stay here awhile
and let the curtain of love come down.
We will lose ourselves
in one another, in the mirror,
one last time.
When I leave
your scent will be tangled in my senses,
and I will carry you with me forever.
Toronto, Spring
1995
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