Long since accustomed to waking, often, in the darkness
Of the night, unable to sleep, or late after such a night,
And barely able to truly wake, and long since accustomed,
In either case, to waking alone, our trip to York was nothing
But an astonishment. She said no one would think twice
About two respectable ladies, traveling together, sharing
One room at a respectable place like the Blue Swan, but
Truly what surprised me most was that before, then after,
I truly slept. She called it the sleep of the innocent, but
I don't know. Now that I have the knowledge, even though
Of a woman, that usually constitutes something other
Than innocence, I wonder if it could be called instead
The sleep of the well-sated. How did I not know what deep
Surging, pulsing joy her hands could give me? I'd not
Thought a man could do the same with his, well,
Workman's tools. And she asks me all the time, "Like this?
Is this all right?" And listens when I say ah, yes or no.
And then this morning, on waking, we met each others eyes
And started all over again, breathing heavily, feeling so
Deeply. And when I was still shuddering in the wake
Of what she had given me, she rolled over to check the time.
"Dr. Belcombe will be here in twenty minutes," she said.
I tried to take the watch away and she distracted me with
A flurry of kisses. I think she's the best medicine I could have.