When you are lying against me,
satisfied and still,
save for the swelling of your breath,
nothing else in all the world matters.
Not my scribbled lists and leftover tasks,
nor the disorder in my thoughts.
Only your perfect form,
the faithfulness of your pulse,
this hushed and holy joy.
Here is an oasis of being,
a Sabbath amidst the striving.
Here is a haven of rest,
you and I,
Understood by kindred cells –