What Is It All About Poem by Red O'Mara

I couldn't sleep one night and,
hoping you'd be awake,
poked, and waited,
then found your photograph,
you'll know which one,
and, yearning for you,
traced its soft lines
with the finger of the mouse.
Traced your softly rounded breasts,
their pointed nipples.
Traced your torso beneath that succulence,
and then followed the gentle swell of your belly
to where I paused
and pondered on, wondered at,
what we have,
you and I.
What we have that some believe is everything.
That others, laughing, say is not.
As an ordinary man, I
had never much considered this.
But now, knowing you
and feeling less ordinary,
it seems to me that this,
this ordinary happening,
has given to me most,
perhaps all,
of that which I always assumed might come
with money and achievement
and would complete me.
Pleasure, joy and laughter.
Lust and passion and pain
that ‘hurts so good'.
But, also, offering and taking,
fulfilling, failing, forgiving.
Sharing and caring, and baring
all that we really are.
Loving.