*slow, heavy, breathing* You hear the mostly even regimen of your partner’s slumber as his S shaped body is curled away from you. With the pillow between his arms, his dark, tousled hair spikes in contrast against the off-white pillow case still half adorning the bed. His broad, curl sprinkled chest keeps rhythm with the deep, dreamland encompassed breathing. You watch captivated in almost silence, as the lone audience member unbeknownst to the performer. The sheet has fallen to cover only his midriff and one partial leg. You see the crescent shaped scar that sits atop of your love’s muscular bottom. You tenderly trace the scar, knowing it came from accidentally sitting on a rusty nail poking up from a rusty bench during his adolescent years. He makes jokes and comes up with a different origin every time it’s seen or mentioned. Your favorite is the one he told when you were camping early on in your relationship. You were a tangle of limbs, courageously naked, on top of a blanket, with the stars as our canopy. I couldn’t decide which was more gorgeous, the sky, or the new body conformed to mine. I was dizzy with the newness that was us. I was caressing your bottom, and finally found the strength to ask you what had made its mark on you. Without hesitation, you pointed to the matching crescent in the sky. You brought my hand up to point with you. “There, right there.” You said. “The moon graced me with a tattoo, so I’d remember this moment for all of eternity.”. I couldn’t figure out whether to smirk, laugh or kiss you. The intensity in your gaze made up my mind for me.
I moved to the beautiful waves cascading his back. These came from his monumental growth spurt his freshman year of high school. They used to be an angry red color, and even though your partner was genetically gifted with an athlete’s body, the stretch marks caused him embarrassment, so he routinely covered his body, even during summer swims with the rest of his pimply faced, hormone raging friends. They’ve faded with time to a dull beige, just slightly lighter than his natural skin tone. You migrate up a bit and notice his lip and brow are wearing a light layer of perspiration, so you tenderly roll over, and gracefully stand. You pause to stretch out the kinks from laying in an awkward position. You then walk around to his side of the bed where you turn the fan to the middle notch, knowing it’s his favored position. You turn the fan so that it’s hitting his legs, and not tickling his nose. In your haste to see to his comfort, you didn’t notice his eyes flutter open or his arm reach out for you.
Shift in perspective…
You awaken as the bed creaks in movement, and the warmth leaves your side. You reach for your love in your half asleep state of mind, and as you do, your partially opened eyes become transfixed by the sensual art piece in front of you. Your breath catches as your body stirs to life. Her back is turned to you. She’s standing, strong, vulnerable, feminine. The light floats down, and streaks of sun soften her dark ringlets as they bounce in response to her light neck and core stretches.
Her hair has grown quickly… Just a few months back, we were having relationship problems, and I moved out. When she agreed to meet up with me, I almost didn’t recognize her. She wore a short, spunky hair do, had new clothes, she was leaner, and an attitude that told me she no longer needed me resonated off of her. It scared me. With our pause, I realized how much I’d become comfortable. Too damn comfortable. We met on common ground, at our favorite coffee shop. She was keeping busy by staring intently into her coffee mug. I got the feeling she was using its very warmth just to keep her going. It was a long and hard discussion, one that took courage from both parties. We had to break down walls we’d worked diligently as a team to put up together. We both felt like failures. When she found the strength to meet my gaze, I knew. I knew she was still mine, and I hers. Her eyes are the most expressive eyes I’ve ever encountered, and I would choose hers every day for the rest of my life.
As she turned, her dancer like body seemed to glide across the room. Even in the sticky humidity, with her unruly bedhead reaching to the ceiling, I’m mesmerized by her beauty. Her physical beauty is obvious to all. It still manages to catch me off-guard. She teases me sometimes, and tells me my jaw should have a hinge on it in order to keep it shut. That’s what I love most about her, her ability to play. That, and her kindness. She just got up to turn the fan on for me. She could do without. She did it for me. As she walked to the bathroom, I watched intensely. The way she moves, lithely, with purpose. As I heard her start the shower, my mind raced for ideas to help show her I appreciate her.
Breakfast? A silly poem? Join her in the shower? Ummmmmmm. I performed an internet search, found the song I was looking for. I quickly located my small speakers amidst my messy closet. I scrounged to find her favorite candle. I went downstairs to peruse the fridge. Nothing screamed romantic or sexy, so I opted for toast with her favorite jelly and a cup of oj. Got the coffee pot started. I brought her snack upstairs, lit the candle, and laid it on the nightstand.
I took a deep breath and decided to go full cheese. I brought the speakers and my phone into the small bathroom. I peed and then hooked everything up. She peeked out once, but kept her curiosity at bay with a questioning glance. I pushed play on my phone. Incubus’ “Wish You Were Here” blared with harmonic clarity from the small speakers littering the limited space on the bathroom floor. The song has kind of been “ours” since the beginning of our relationship. I stepped into the shower to face you, and with perfect timing, embraced you while mouthing the words in alignment to Boyd’s soulful singing, “And in this moment I am happy. Happy. “.