I.
I searched his palms
for a sign. There was none.
I felt his side
for a wound. It was smooth.
Yet, he is here.
My wait is over.
His face is an icon
begging my kisses. Through the night,
I will sing his praises and call
him, my lord.
II.
I love her most
in that rumpled state
just off the pillow
and half asleep
hair tousled
face unmade
going down on me
as I wake.