It's the nights that are difficult - exhaustion sets in around 8.00 and a full night's sleep is rare. There are a few early morning compensations though...
The house has cooled at last.
I turn down the volume on 'The West Wing'
so as not to disturb you.
The ceiling fan revolves hypnotically.
'Allie?'
'I'm out here, my love.'
'Come to bed?'
'Soon sweetheart -
It's only eight o'clock.'
Later I climb in beside you.
You curl cosily into my back,
musty warm and purring.
I close my eyes and drift off.
Suddenly you snap on the light.
'Allie! Allie!
'What the fuck's the matter with this pillow?'
I squeeze my eyes
trying not to react;
Remembering what it felt like
to be small and afraid of the dark.
Then dawn opens her eyes
and you slip your good hand between my legs;
And the child of last night
becomes the man
I fell for forty five years ago.
The truest of all the definitions of love. Beautifully written Alison.