Sometimes Poem by Bill Galvin

sometimes
I wake to the morning light
and see her lying next to me
in the quietude of dreamy silence.

sometimes
I reach to feel the smoothness of her femininity,
to touch her softness…
perhaps to bring into a semblance of reality
the fact that she is in my life.

she wakes in a smile, as she always has…
we share a morning kiss, as we always have
since the first time we camped at the foot of the mountain
and gathered wood to take our chill away
and boil our tea water…
the forest, lake, and mountain were there.

sometimes
we make love…
as the nourishing rain and sun
give alternately to the earth…
adequately…
neither drought nor destructive storminess…
neither desert nor washed-out erosion…
we formulate sufficiency.

sometimes
she sings…
she brings me messages from across the borders of her prejudices and fears…
she wants,
but she doesn't want anyone to know she wants;
and she tells me everything thru her songs…
sometimes she doesn't even know she's singing.

sometimes
we make love…
without sexuality…
finger to finger, hand in hand, eye to eye…
the touch so slow, so steady;
abounding in closeness.
she knows a word is only an image,
and our closeness is not describable.

sometimes
she lies in the bend of my arm
and we know
our closeness is limitless.

Bill Galvin 1974