As we are so wonderfully done with each other 
We can walk into our separate sleep 
on floors of music where the milkwhite cloak of childhood 
lies 

oh my love, my golden lark, my soft long doll 
Your lips have splashed my dull house with print of flowers 
My hands are crooked where they spilled over your dear 
curving 

It is good to be weary from that brilliant work 
It is being God to feel your breathing under me 

A waterglass on the bureau fills with morning..... 
Don't let anyone in to wake us