Just now, you've come to bed, 1:00AM,
Watching your fav Sunday night shows,
In our bed, been awaiting patiently,
You slip slide in, experienced, unclothed,
So there would be less friction,
Just a sensation of more warmth,
But waking me nonetheless.

Not upset, not at all...no mad men here...

Presenting me anew with an annual question..

By annual I mean, a question posed
Every night of every year
Of the rest of our lives together...
Which is not the same as
nightly, perpetual or forever

What is my favorite part?

My hand is drawn immediately to
The back of your neck, where hair wisps unruly,
Refuse to obey my gentle stroking and tidy up,
Joining  all the rest which you have upswept for me.

Like every child crayon-armed,
Begin at the beginning and
Draw circles upon circles,
Caresses disguised as art,
All over your newly presented tableau,

But you know my truth,
Searching, searching for my favorite place again.

Pretend I've discovered a
Checkerboard where I seem to win
Every game I've ever played,
Practicing double and triple jumps
Turning all of my captured pieces into Kings.

A snuggling presentation, a white skin canvas,
Mine to draw upon, what's my vision ce soir?
My pointer, my paint brush asks for directions,
Who shall we be! Mondrian, Chagall, Raphael?
Tonight I am Michaelangelo, my finger shall be the
Finger of God and with it I shall anoint and draw
Our names on my favorite place.

Sighing, you message me multiples,
Let me sleep please, but don't stop yet...
Understood.
If you have a job to do,
Get to it man.

Because we both know long ago
Selected my location were my fingers five
Will end this charade, this pretense.

The inner space that curves serpentine,
Where your back meets your hips,
Your waist so delicate will be stroked
And stroked till I hear your heavy lidded breathing.
Signaling me the game is over,
We have both won.

1:55 AM
Every night