though he’s simple,
his hands follow forgotten paths
along my skin.
he claims the softness i retain is what guides his fingers
along the ridges and arches of my sleeping form,
but i know it’s the stillness in the night
when his heart beats with nightmares looming
when he reaches out to me,
snoring softly as i do, unfeminine as always,
and finds heat there,
always ready.
