Adjusting the c-pap pillow
in her nose throughout the night,
she looks at his back slightly curved toward the southern window.
It is this side of him that salutes her every morning.
Her abiding willow branches, wrap around his perfectly still trunk.
After an ardent prayer of
thanksgiving is whispered in her soul,
there is no need to get up quickly.
Fading light pink, muffled yellow and tired purple paint on
their daughters’ bedroom walls echo their cries in the night
from a too scary TV show, a stomach ache,
giggles from noisy sleepovers, whispering to boyfriends on the phone…
While he slumbers with incomplete dreams behind his corneas,
she took a shower in lavender flowers and almond gel desserts.
The yucky taste of a long sleep swirl down the drain,
scented lotion, a gift from him, encase her body,
the once dry bath towels watch her exit to slip onto
the once secret trampoline that dips slightly in the middle,
admiring his black and grey tinsel hair,
to listen to his skip a note petite snore.
She used her agile fingers to trace his lips and redrew
them on her breast, tracing his long thin nose,
she drew it across her easy to laugh belly button.
She painted Art Deco kisses on his salty ear,
on his shoulder,
in the air above,
Falling on them.
He stretches and turns toward her,
she puts her finger over his athirst lips to withhold words
from rolling from his long, caressed jaw,
resting his head close to her,
his ears listen to a known, repeated melody in her heart,
his eyes rest on silky ocean waves.
His mouth remanence a youthful smile,
recaptured, re-smiled from the first night…
He is grateful she is there next to him
knowing what they both need…
Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth:
knowing what they both want…
for your love is better than wine.
“When you peel away the fat, the real you is underneath” – Joy Bauer
Cynthia Hibbler has published work in The Indianapolis Review, New Voices, and The Grapevine Newsletter: Disciples of Christ.