Whole

And we're home again, alone again, tired again, from where we've been. But not too tired, never too tired. And I'm back, from what, I can't remember, but back and I don't see you but I know where you are. And the door's sliding back and my shoes are coming off and the robe's opening up and the floor is cold but I don't care. Everything is fast and I'm opening your door and I get across to your bed and I'm flopping down on cool sheets next to you. And you roll to your side to look at me, you always sleep on your back, but you turn to look at me and touch my face. And everything is slow. The hair's not coming down: I'll leave that for you. You like to take it down, I know. And your sword's not in the bed because you knew I was coming. I can't stand it in the bed, you know. And you trace the lines. Slowly. Under my eyes. I close them. Heart beat. I open them. Heart beat. I move a hand to touch your face. Run fingers under your eyes. Slowly. Gently. And then we lie. And watch. And I remember. I slip my ring off and put it on the opposite finger, your finger, the ring finger. So we can be more for a while. More than companions. More than friends. So we can be less for a while. Less scheming. Less thinking. Less everything. So we can be. Be human. Or at least half human. And I scoot closer. Close enough to touch. So we can be whole.