Anne Bryant-Hamon

Sunrise 

He makes love to me in the mornings.
We are a sun ray lighting on a tree.  
I am a leafy Queen.  He is a Monarch.
He lights upon my petiole,  
then with a sudden hush  
I turn pale green. 
I might have fainted 
had he not given pause, 
a softly measured reprieve. 
Twice again 
he flutters up and down. 
Crescendos dawn 
to waken every vein.