Naked Huxley

After sex, you pull a book down from my nearby shelf.

A copy of Brave New World.

 

Yes, it really is.

“What’s that?”

A brave new world.

You laugh.

“I see what you did there.”

 

The well-thumbed book laying rakishly across your well-thumbed breasts.

You giggle and touch my leg.

I forget that we are naked.

 

“Are you writing a poem in your head right now?”

Yes. How did you know?

“I can tell by the looks you are giving me.”

 

I look deep into the pockets of light trapped in the center of your eyes.

 

“Are you still writing it?”

I am.

“Good. Is it about me?”

Yes.

“Good.”

You smile at me; I write in my head.

 

I kiss your forehead and you kiss my chin.

After a while, we both fall asleep.

My copy of Brave New World still clutched tightly to your chest.

My poem clutched just as tight in my head.

 

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