Sunday evening.
I curl up against him on our sofa, deep, cream,
showered, fresh, hair open, damp, skin lotion soft,
wearing nothing but his pajamas.
I ask,
“Are you full?”
He says,
“Yes.”
I say,
“Go bath, BB, I filled it for you,
go to bed,
text me when you’re in bed.”
He texts.
I pause my Netflix show.