When we finish, you roll off the bed and pull on a wrinkled shirt.
It looks soft and I catch a whiff of clean laundry.
I like that you put on your boxers second.
Always second.
You lean against the wall.
I ask if I can light up and you always say no.
You run your hand through your hair.
I smile.
You ask if I want some water.
I always ask for a diet Coke.
You tell me that I know better.
“How about coffee?”
I nod.
I get up and pull on my own clothes.
Slowly.
Always achingly slowly for you.
You sit back down on the bed.
I bend down and whisper against your ear.
“I’ll be back.”