Opening the door, the light from the downstairs hallway cast across the bedroom. I am greeted by your red painted toe nails dipping off the edge of the bed.
The July heat has been oppressive, greater than any year either of us can recall. Your body is twisted in the sheer sheets. The ceiling fan beats down its blessed reprieve upon your sweaty nakedness.
At the edge of the bed I stop and watch you sleep. Your sweetness, your curls resting across your cheek, somehow unphased by the winnowing of the ceiling fan. Your delicate lips outlined faintly in the light. My eyes trace down your broad shoulders to a lone breast that has escaped from the crumpled sheets. Your dark luscious nipple, always taunting me, is erect. But, erect from the constant pressure of the fan or erect from my dark presence before you? Are you awake and know I am about to devour you, heart and soul?
My eyes continue their inspection down your rib cage unto your hips and thighs. Squat after squat, kilometer after kilometer of runs, I can see the results of your hard work in the shadows of the bedroom.