I love him most
when he sleeps in my arms—
his hand in a ball under his chin,
his dress shirt pressed with wrinkles.
I take in the earthen scent
of man and run my fingers through his hair,
twisting the thick black curls. His chest expands,
his bent knees rest on the sofa.
I brush his whiskers against my fingers.
Then he stirs and captures me—
green-brown eyes piercing,
lips curling in a knowing smile.
The world around us spins away,