'More' is fairly self explanatory. It's a mid life poem, a light hearted, full hearted love poem for my quiet man who now thinks I'm the kind of woman scold's bridles were invented for. Enjoy.
We ought to enjoy each other more
while we are still young (youngish),
not presume to be lithe always,
able unclip a bra with one hand,
able to reach my hand under your arse,
down the back of your leg.
We ought to burn more midnight oil,
talk more in the dark,
watch the room fill up with
moonlight and become undark,
appreciate the way a glimmer seeps
around the skylight blind.
If one of us can’t sleep
we shouldn’t care, instead
waken the other
say I can’t sleep.
Listen to our house stretch and
contract, our children breathe.
We ought to start tonight,
bring a whisky to bed
like we did
the night we moved in.