Peter Sarstedt.

A poem about the hours of darkness spent with the love of your life. Ten years or more in the thinking so quite easy to put into writing. Just the thing to find for Valentines Day (ok, I forgot the flowers didn't I)

Just thrust out a leg in the first throes of sleep
Drag your foot up my shin
and take its warmth
To wick away the deep set chill of a lonely
bare foot evening.

Move about restlessly
until
embedded in your favourite position
You can begin your nightly dreams.

It doesn't matter if I am displaced
to occupy a narrow ledge on the far side of the bed
It is a small sacrifice
to be able to hear your deepening breath.

I find comfort in
the random placing
of your arm
across my prone body.

It is a welcome physical contact
when you are otherwise detached,
fighting your own demons
or meeting with
long lost dearly beloveds with a sigh of happiness.

Forgetting it is me, you may cuddle up for a moment
And then recoil into your tight foetal crouch
Under the covers, tightly wound and impenetrable
Whenever I dare chance to show a response of love.

I do not mind my nightime in exile next to you
For I am content, more than content to be the one
who sees you last when you leave
and first upon your return to the real world.