It has been a long day; you
put away the arguments and the mail.
He will be cold and wet with rain.
The rent was paid; there is something to eat.
If he is hungry.
You turn off all the lights but one.
He may read a while.
You close the curtains, leaving
a sliver of window open.
He will want some air.
There is water for drinking, or wine.
The last thing you said
You hear him shuffle his keys.
He disrobes; shoes, socks,
shirt, belt, pants. He smells of hard work.
You hear the nude whisper of everything else.
You lie still; he edges toward possible touch.
He stops at the sound of your breathing.
You listen to nothing but air.
His back to you, like a folly, you spoon.