Interiors

I

Waking early I stand by the the window
half in and half out of sleep.
Through the gap in the curtains
I peer at the street below.
It is raining, and quiet.

The morning light catches your face
which is half-turned on the pillow.
You're smiling.

My fretful dream woke me in fear
of a loss I could not understand.
But there you still are, asleep.


II

Surrounded by paraphernalia
you stand in the bathroom
reflecting your face in the mirror.
Do you like what you see?

Around is face cream, body lotion, skin toner,
moisturiser, deodorant, eye mask, anti-wrinkle cream.

I watch you undress, unselfconsciously,
you drop each item carelessly
on to the white ceramic floor.
You smile as you step into the shower.


III

Tousled hair, rumpled sheets, the light bright.
I watch you in bed, spread like honey,
sweet, sticky, irresistible. Your hand
holds me, familiar, comfortable, just an
occasional squeeze of reassurance.
Your legs are splayed,
an abandon of ownership,
one slightly bent at the knee, a question mark. Down your back a scratch,
a long red line of resistance, and your bottom
pink and punished.
The fingers of your right hand
play with the bedpost, rehearsing and remembering.
A breeze escapes the curtain and you shiver.


IV

We don't smoke, we read. Lying together
knotted by sheets and limbs
we turn our pages together, sharing a moment,
a paragraph, a page. If I read faster than you
you don't say. Who chooses the book?
We read until the wet and the warmth subside,
then fold the corner and dream.
The ceiling smiles back at us.
Propped on one shoulder
I gaze and study and run my finger
along your skin. I know that giggle and the
meaning of that breath. I hold your hands
over your head and clap.