I held him as a delicate child

gazing at his placid face

opaque and unblinking,

ran my fingers through his white waves

absorbing pale lashes, cupid's lips,

the tangled locks of an unruly enfant

my alien with the visage of an angel

I wait for him to wake

wait for a sliver of a waking grin

my opening to burrow in

We churn each others' skin

creating heat, melting together

in the ripe humidity

When we rise

we take turns brushing each others' backs

anticipate the coffee we'll soon have

espresso or americano or a shared pot of French press or

as we walk he feels for my sides

and I tell him not to worry,

"my hips are still here."