April 23, 2002
Sometimes she just watches him sleep. She aches to clasp him to herself and draw him forth, knowing he will surrender to her desire, yet she only gently caresses his strong shoulder, the small pot belly, a tradeoff acquired when he quit smoking, the soft hair on his chest. She can feel his heart beat under her hand and the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing. She will kiss that firm line of his vertebrae and nestle herself against his back and legs. She will not wake him. She will join him in his slumber. They will awaken refreshed.