Wrapped

Last weekend, in our chilly cabin in the woods, he would not let go of me as he slept.  We haven’t been so entwined since our first few nights together.  And back then, it was me (and not he) so wrapped (or rapt?).  His arm behind my head, his leg thrown over my thighs, a hand entwined, warm breath on my neck, I felt safe and wanted.

I woke to a bad dream this morning – a dream that left me rattled.  I needed those arms, that leg, his hand, his kiss of breath to soothe me, but my bed was empty.  I settled on a walk through the neighborhood to clear my head.  It helped just a little.

This dream has not left me, yet I’m afraid to say, “I need you tonight”, afraid to have him see me needy.  So I will wait until tomorrow, our usual night together, and wrap myself around him tighter still.

The Comma

In the witching hour, outside the bedroom door, sat a fat cat with fine vocal capacity who, for reasons unknown, determined he must come inside. The girl, who was lying in her warm bed, decided, after much deliberation, to acquiesce and allow him entrance, while the cat, upon gaining admission, jumped on the bed, made exactly 14 biscuits on the fuzzy green blanket, turned around three times counter-clockwise, settled down and promptly went to sleep until the alarm woke them both at 7:30 the next morning.

Bed

The last guy I dated, I couldn’t sleep next to him.  After sex, I’d doze for a bit, perhaps, but in the end, I’d find myself crawling from his arms to sleep on the couch.  I’d always find my way back between the sheets in the early dawn.  The real sleep, the vulnerable hours of my deepest dreaming, was spent elsewhere, away from him. On our vacation, I spent the dead of night in the bedroom next door. At the time,  I thought this was an ultimate consequence of a life spent in a single girl’s bed, the final straw.

But my new guy, I sleep with him just fine.  He’s worried that his snoring keeps me awake.  I assure him that his rhythmic breathing doesn’t bother me at all – and it really doesn’t.  That’s not snoring. I’m glad I own my tiny queen bed – no room for us to separate. I smile when he spoons me, feeling his warmth along my back.  I need his hand on my hip or my foot on his calf, a gentle reminder that he is there, and I sleep soundly, completely.