To Have and to Hold Love

“How long?”

I raise an eyebrow like Mimi taught me.  It adds a slant to my pirate eye, complimenting my grin. It's my most readily available weapon.

“Hey there, I ask about you. That's my job. I'm you're friend."

I reply with a shrug, and I look passed feeble oaks with naked limbs.  “Three; it's been three. You know that.”

“Well, you look like a ghoul or something.  Besides, don't act bothered that I ask—, about you.”

I get up. The water is boiling or it's about to, and she is pricking anticipations that were pounding before I pushed the door bell button.

“I’m sorry—, but you're carrying so much dead weight. You need…” I hear her walk toward me in the kitchen nook.  "This isn’t healthy.”

My throat is full with something dry and heavy. I push out words while I hear her too close behind me. But, it's not unhealthy.”  I press her sternum, looking for a button so I can breathe, get space. I don’t look up. “We’re just too different.”

She finds enough of the pot handle to steer it.  The glass body drops and three microscopic bubbles sear my hand. She guides my other one with a loose lead, and I follow the folds of her cotton hoody. 

“I’m just going to take this off.”

I hold my breath. I hold the top buttons.

“No?” She looks up and cups the side of my face. “Ok, I’ll take these off.” She laughs that Joker laugh of soft glee while the five steel nubs pop in series, and then I’m standing with my flaky-white skin exposed in her intimate room with all the others who have been with her.  Here. 

She raises my hips to the top of her mattress, and I stretch out of my coat.  She opens every other inch while she talks of the first time I made her laugh, of that food fight that took us years to clean, of that weekend at the beach with her crazy ex, of that week in a cabin with mine, and of her love for me. 

“I love that we can share this love.” 

She presses, pulling the top sheet over us.