When you have slept.

When you have slept and I see you wake,
your limp and lovely body lying there,
my senses girdle up to undertake
the prospect of your lemon scented hair.
The picture of you dressing stirs me so
that all my skin is somehow set alight;
I see visions of the urgent to and fro
partaken in the crevices of night.
For there, in shadows, I could feel the heat
the friction of our flesh materialised,
with you above me reaching the complete
abandonment of all we've rationalised.
   Then I, myself, awoke and daylight shone
   upon the empty truth, that you were gone.