| when i see her getting ready for bed i feel obliged to sit up and marvel as she excuses her clothing and pirouettes across the room holding onto a moonbeam for balance. and i know exactly what to expect, having seen it all before, yet each tme she makes it new. and i'm new too. and this bed. and this room. and this poem as well. and as she silks into bed and melts into me forming this other new and improved being, i close my eyes and forget the me i am without her. -cfn |