Excerpt from “Shooting Star”
I see the streak of light and you whisper in my ear, “Make a wish.”
I make my wish. The wish. The one that comes true every morning when the spin of the earth brings you and I into the curving yellow light of our sun. I know it’s not really a wish because it has and always will come true, but there is comfort in repetition regardless of probabilities.
Light from the sun takes eight minutes to travel nearly ninety-three million miles. Eight minutes from its liquid surface to the glowing curve of your face as you regard me in your cool way over the first cup of coffee each morning. It gently illuminates the lines that have added over the years, more dear to me because I helped with their etching and saw the change in you.
As we watch another meteor throw itself against the atmosphere like a moth to a burning bulb I make another wish and watch the starlight of this winter night dance in your eyes. The closest night star to our hilltop is Proxima Centauri. The light from its three irrevocably attracted suns left over four years ago. I look at you and I am thinking that it left knowing its destination was your eyes. To travel the cold vacuum of space and plunge into the vibrant heat of your cobalt eyes–I know why it does this. I do it myself every day. Their warmth belies your ever-present calm. You don’t let very many people see your glow, but I have always seen it.
The wind kicks up and you tuck the blanket under your chin, shivering against my arm. I pull you close. The air pressure is dropping and the sparkling clarity of the Milky Way overhead will soon be obscured by a storm predicted this morning. I don’t mind. The drop in pressure is responsible for the wind that makes you snuggle against my side.
Your icy fingers slip under my sweater and I tickle you until you remove them. You slide your cold hands between my denim-covered thighs and I clench them for friction to warm your skin.
Excerpt from “Any Morning”
With your body next to me in our bed, I surrender to sleep every night. My mind goes limp. My dreams wander whichever way they will. You burrow into me some nights and I don’t feel you there, not when I am deep in the arms of sleep.
Every morning, when I wake, my mind climbs to a level of bare alertness. Are you there with me? Yes. Are you asleep? Can’t tell. My body stays asleep, still in surrender to the warmth of the bed.
It was the very first morning we woke up together that you discovered I could respond to you and yet remain in that sleep-puddle state. That very first morning you whispered in my ear, “You don’t have to wake up. At least not much.”
You like my body in surrender. Sometimes, when our fire is sizzling hot, you enforce my surrender with soft but effective accessories. But in the morning there is no need for anything more than your voice and the firm command of your hands to transfer me from sleep to your possession.
The sheets rustle and I know you are there. I am not awake when your arm slides across my back and your hair tickles my shoulder blades. Not awake a few minutes later when you stir again and your hand wanders the length of my spine…
Excerpt from “Firelight Fantasia”
Sorry, it’s not tame enough for the web.
