(no subject)
I lie with you and think of the contours of your muscles, the softness of your underarms. I think of your knotted hair and the baby curls that fight through it, the way your laugh reminds me of limes and sugar cane, and of the last joke you told me.
I don’t think of what car you drive, what suit you wear to work in the morning, your earning potential or the way you sound on your answering machine. There is no car to drive, no office to go to, no business meeting, and no voicemail or call waiting.
You have strong hands that blister and heal-a carpenter’s hands that have built us shelter. You sing and drum on hollowed out stumps. You tell me stories in the firelight, skin rabbits and spear fish from the river.
I love that you lie with me and think of the depths in my eyes, the scars on my knees from falling on gravel. You think of my face and how it glows after months without make-up, the way my eyes catch the light of the sun, and of the last joke I told you.
You don’t think of how short my skirt is, how lacy my bra is, the color of my nail polish or how many lunch dates I made this week. There is no shit to wear, no restaurants to be seen in.
I really love that.
Stephanie Harris