This Man Should Be Illegal

She woke up that morning looking at a wall that wasn't hers.  Where was she?  Oh, yeah.  She remembered now.  Slowly she rolled onto her back and looked to her right.  There he was.  Still as beautiful as last night.  His dark hair short except for his bangs, which fell across his forehead.  To get a better look, she carefully raised herself on her right elbow being as quiet as possible careful not to shake the bed.  She wasn't ready for him to wake up.

He had impossibly long eyelashes, black against his olive skin. She squelched her impulse to reach over and run her finger the length of his eyebrow.  His nostrils naturally flared.  When she first noticed that last night in the bar, she couldn't decide if she was attracted by it or not.  When she was looking up at him last night feeling the weight of his body on her and in her watching him orgasm, she decided they fit right in with the rest of him.

It was not her style to go home with someone she just met.  God.  This man should be illegal.  She wasn't a nubile young thing anymore.  He was in his mid-thirties, too, she guessed.

His 5 o'clock shadow was now beard stubble.  She wanted to lick his cheek and feel its roughness against her tongue.  The taste of his skin a solid memory.  She wanted to bite his jawline.  His pulse beat steady in his neck.

Involuntarily, a sigh escaped her.

Oh, no!  He's smiling!

New Start, My Heart

New Start, My Heart

I drew my head back and howled at the moon.

My heart bled down my chest, red pooling at my feet.

Why, oh why? I asked.

Weakness, exhaustion, and depression.

The moon set and the sun rose.

I drew my head back and squinted at the suns rising.

Sore, but no more bleeding, my heart’s beat was strong.

Thank you, oh thank you.  I said.

Recovery, stability, and strength.

I drew my head back and smiled at the noon sun.

My heart’s rhythm in time, happiness.

New start, my heart.  I said.

Rest, peace, and joy.