15 April 2009

His hair

His hair is a silken curtain around us. I've never had another man with such long hair, or even a woman. It cascades, soft and sweetly scented, around our faces, tiny strands tickling my cheeks and making me smile involuntarily. 

His face is relaxed, smiling, and I realize how much that I want to kiss him. 
His lips will still taste like stale tobacco, completely unacceptable on anyone else but simply the price of kissing him. 

As he leans in to me, seeming to read my thoughts, I take the iniative and brush his lips with mine, gently. 
There is so much pain between us, so much hurt and anger. For 7 years I have nursed my rage and my pain, but right now he is offering me a gift that he is one of the only ones who can: a few blessed moments of safety, of the assurance of being wanted and loved. 

Tomorrow I'll go back to hating him as much as I love him. 
Tomorrow I'll remember why I shouldn't do this. 

But tonight... tonight I will breathe in the softly scented silk of his hair, and I will let myself feel safe, and wanted.

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