I sit beside her sleeping body, tucked under the white blanket
The novel I’d been reading to her, is still open in my lap,
untouched for hours.
I dog ear the page I’d left off at,
shutting Our Wives Under the Sea
place it quietly on the chipped wood of the nightstand.
The warm light from the bedside lamp turns off with two
sharp
clicks.
I slip under the covers, wrap my arms around her
nuzzle my nose against her cool neck.
The scent of iron, and
clumped straw-like
hair brushes against my forehead,
My fingers sneak up her shirt;
the cotton sticks to the ripped flesh of her soft stomach.
I slip inside her.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
My father is a dedicated hunter. As a child, I would sit on the basement steps and look down at the deer carcasses that would hang and sway from the support beams. I never went all the way down those stairs.