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.