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