When we haven’t seen each other
for hours, or it can be days, the hubbub
of life so busy that even in the same house
I can’t find you, I long for that time in early
morning when the sun arching over
the earth finds the poppies, and
softly kissing closed bud convinces
lips to yield, tonguing
lightly the golden petals until
mouth, hungry for the radiant
light and its insistent pleasure,
fully opens.
Robert Rothman 