This morning I woke up cold
you had stolen all the covers

Your curls tousled on the pillow,
breathing softly beside me-
like a nude from a Renaissance painting.

I felt warm again.

I cannot remember the last time
I laughed so hard
or felt quite so tender-
a heady combination in one night.

You say you are just who you are
And nothing more
But I am the one you chose.

Marc St. James,
you look like you could
be a real saint to me.