Sleep Well

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She sleeps better beside him.

She sleeps best when her head is curled into his chest, and his arm is around her, along with a leg thrown carelessly over.

Her rest is sweetest when it is punctuated with the sound of his silent inhale and and funny puff of exhale, sometimes with a tiny snore.

Her dreams are most peaceful when she can feel him at her back.  And when they are scary, the fear instantly subsides when she can roll over and touch him.

Slumbering deeply for hours…it happens most often when her body is in total relaxation after being tangled with his.

Yes, she sleeps better with him.

That is probably why she dreams of him every night.

His Roar

lion-roar

I love it all

The quickening intensity

The drop in the pitch of his voice

The flexing of muscles

The dilation of black swallowing blue

The tautness that begins in his cheeks and spreads to his mouth

But most of all

At the culmination

I love his roar

The final, primal pronouncement

That he is man

And I am woman.

It is the sound of power and claiming

And intimacy and lust

And joining flesh and hearts.

It is his roar

And when it fills my ears

I soar.

 

Still

woman by water

She loved him then, she loves him still

Inside, she knows she always will.

The way he smiled, his work-worn hand,

The things he seemed to understand.

His face when in the midst of bliss,

And oh, his long, breath-stealing kiss.

He opened up a world for her;

He made her laugh, he made her purr.

He made her want to be her best,

His words could put her soul at rest.

She longed to give him everything,

He gave her a new cause to sing.

She doesn’t know what life will hold,

And so she cannot be too bold.

No, her heart is not sure of much,

But she’d give it for one more touch.

Spell

Double, bubble, toil and trouble,

How I miss your razor stubble.

Eyes of blue and hands of tan,

Six feet six of manly man.

All the power of my emotion

Great than the best love potion,

In the deep of memory’s mist,

I can conjure up your kiss.

Stir the cauldron of delights,

While recalling passion nights.

Words we said and things we’d do

Boiling in this lovers’ brew.

And if my the moon’s round light,

I could wish with all my might,

When my conjuring was through,

I’d have put a spell on you.