Thursday, January 20, 2011

Small Stone #20 (aros)

A cold air blast stirs
me from the mist of dreams 
followed by the press 
of dress shirt buttons along 
the length of my back

the comforting feel of his
hand snaking around my waist
palm coming to rest on my right breast

I worry, half awake that he will
wrinkle his shirt before work
even as I slide back into sleep.

When I wake he is gone


My heart taking a moment
to catch up to the truth 
my head knows

It is but a flesh memory
Polished, resurfaced and
flushed out into my dreams
by the simple slip of a blanket that 
exposed bare skin to the cold.

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