by J. O'Shields II
The loyal shoes whisper to the house again as I step back to the hall and move ghostlike back to the bedroom. I sit myself on the side of the bed and slide my feet from them and back under the thick piles of bedding. My head is set again against the pillow and my eyes are already closed. I'll try to sleep a few minutes more. It's too early for the sun and she always wakes with the sun. Perhaps wherever she is she hasn't had time to rise and bathe and dress. But soon she will and then she'll want to see me because we were in love. So I'll sleep so we are awake together and so that we find ourselves in need of rest together. By that we'll spend our day in step with one another and our night in an embrace as one; on my narrow bed, under fine bedding. And when she is in my arms I won't dream of my hand being held by a woman I never knew, who never shared my sink or was chilled by my morning. But those are merely details. And they'll be forgotten once I close my eyes and see her again.