I long for a Sunday of whispers.
Sweet nothings in my ear as we lounge naked in my bed for a little bit longer, rejecting the sunlight's piercing rays creeping thru the makeshift curtains... would be lovely, sure.
But not every Sunday can resist the rhythms of routine, and why should that come between us and the quiet?
Thick and heavy and waiting for us to give in to its enveloping embrace...
Ask me if I want coffee so softly I have to sweetly hum, "Hmm?"
Rattle off your mental to-do list and I'll rattle off mine,
and we stand so close just to hear one another that my ear sweats from the heat of your breath and its laser focus on your consonants.
Tell me about that dream you had,
or your phone call with your mother,
or about the cute kid you saw at the grocery store;
my eyes will shimmer, begging "what happened next?",
and when you exhale the punchline, our laughter will bounce off the walls and echo thru the skylight and wake up the cat, who will pop her head up, alarmed, suddenly suspicious of our silence.
She'll be drawn by the heat of our bodies and breath,
and slink over to our quiet corner with a curious "Mrreow?"
We'll scoop her up and share our secrets,
and she'll shiver with every exhale that tickles the hair in her ears.
She'll nod consent to this sweet soft Sunday,
and curl her body around ours with gratitude and a wink of knowing wisdom:
I told you this was better.
This is the way to do Sunday, the way to share love between us.
What took you both so long?"
"No" disappears in a whisper,
while "Yes" slithers clearly in the space between your lips,
opening up the world
and my soul
and your heart
and our haven
to whatever Sunday has in store for us.
Maybe we'll stay home all day being quiet together;
or maybe I'll do laundry and you'll go to the gym, and come together again when the winter darkness creeps in too early.
Maybe we'll go for a walk and take in the scent of crushed pine on the sidewalk;
we'll clasp our hands together and let the city be our soundtrack,
and you'll simply squeeze to show your pleasure, your eye catching mine,
without the need for words or whispers at all.
Copyright 2017 by Ali Skye Bennet. No portion may be reproduced without permission from the author.