Flannel

I imagine you in cotton at night.
I feel the flannel against my bare skin
as I lie beside you, my legs entwined with yours.
For a moment, the warm softness comforts me,
yet I know it will only be a matter of time
before we need skin upon skin.
That’s just how we are.

 

Breathe, yes I breathe deeply, audibly, haltingly,
as you strip down, baring yourself before me,
your quintessence yielding
to my gentle touch.
I feel you before I see you,
feeling you as I did 400 years ago
in Rome,
Florence, perhaps;
Feeling the white Carrara marble dust
upon your hands then,
as I took them in mine,
urging your fingers across my stomach,
down my hips.

 

Your flannel fell to the floor lifetimes ago.
You will always be naked before me
and I, before you.