It was wrong in one way

but right in another,

that love we had on Sunday morning,

sun blessed by light –

feeling slightly illegal


Better than having our noses

in prayer books and hymnals,

wagging our heads

to a preacher’s damnation


Fun to wrestle truth to dusk

so urgently

between love making and sleep,

between something wrong and something right

in the goodness between the sheets

and a ceiling of white