He lies next to me in the big red bed, hair in patches and smooth in circles. An elbow propped that holds up his head as he gazes and traces the letters of the alphabet on my places of the universe. And he sighs deeply as he throws down his head as if to say, Giving up. I'm giving up on this and I think, On us? Or just giving in- but I don't say because the conversation is the most beautiful I ever heard. -And the man wiggles and flops like a child with energy coursing out of his fingertips. He loves me. Such a simple act. Love is such a simple act. Hate he says, takes 'energy he don't have'- and like is just warmed up soup. 'Love is easy, mother girl love is easy... be easy back.' In the big red bed, I trace the veins in his arms to see where they'll lead me. They never led me where I expected them to go. it's Sunday, in this big old bed. 'The sun's up, gonna go to church and pray for sins of the moon. We'll just stay in these hot red sheets and pray right there. might make more-' And he says with a snakes slow rhythm, 'It's Sunday, everybody knows Sundays were made for redeeming.' Sunday- and there is quiet throughout the house. Sunday- and the world left us for just these few. See that beautiful color? Umm hmm. We are up to the good things, the touching things- the things we need to be forgiving for. We are up to things that shut off the world And we swim in these sheets and we become red.