Monologue.
Now that I am married, I spend my hours
thinking about my husband.
I wind myself about his shelter.
I watch his sleep, dreaming of how to defend his inert form.
At night, leaning on my elbow, I pretend I am merely a lecherous
friend.
And being the first to wake, often wholly naked, descend
to the dim first floor, where the chairs hold
the night before and all says attend.
The light, so coldly spells in innocence. Attend.
The cup is filled with light.
And on my skin, the sun flashes and fades,
as the shade trees bend.