sweetbriarpoet
Flower Fortune- Sweetbriar: Poetry and fragrance.
Sixty-Forth Entry
I want my husband.
Looking over at him now, his loving smile that washes over our children, the older ones, as they write in their workbooks, color in the pages and explain how they have learned mathematics. The way he tucked the baby in as she gurgled and looked at his face one last time, his big hands pulling the covers over her freshly washed body. So sweet and gentle is he, the one who made me shiver at sixteen as he lead me to his bed and made me feel warmer than I've ever felt before. The one who never yelled nor hit me, but grabbed my shoulders and stared into my eyes when I admitted my affair. The one who kissed me so hard my lips bled because he thought he was losing me. The one who held me as I cried, the one who saved me and took blows for me both from our elders and from our peers. Who never once raised his voice at me in anger. Who has always believed in me. The one who caresses my notebooks of writing as if they were our children. I want him.
What are you so busy over there doing? he asks me now, smiling knowingly, turning the page for Tuck as he reads to himself. Look how pretty your mother is, he says, and Tuck makes a face and Rev laughs but is looking too. Look how pretty you are! I cry back, giggly and silly, not freshly in love but always in it, drowning in the way I know how he smells and the way he steadily fingers his pockets. I want to tell him that he wants me now, too, but three of my boys are still up, doing work like good little bees, feeling proud of so many accomplishments that occupy their day. I walk over to Rev and whisper, cupping my hand over his ear as if I were a gossiping schoolgirl. Your best friend wants me, I say, and Rev nods and laughs, motioning me to come forward. Yes he does, should I tell him? I feel his warm breath on my neck, and he pulls free of me, laughing, but letting his hand linger on my arm...
My Reverend, my dearest friend, living his life with me and my husband, watching us, loving both of us, us loving him as a pair. Wanting both of us in separate ways, I'm sure. Thinking of us if we weren't tied down to each other, the fun he'd have with Harry as a friend, me as a...Well, I see it in his eyes sometimes.
But it is Harry I want now. His auburn hair in my fingers as I pull his face to mine, and a cool brush of his nails against my back and shoulders. I want him to put his hands on my hips, big and rolling from childbirth, still beautiful with transparent white skin and the cushion of pleasure and gluttony. I want him to squeeze them, squeeze me, my sexual self in place just for him, and think nothing of the way I have left him for another man's bed, yet still be jealous because I am me. When Harry is jealous, he is never mean, never hurtful or proud or full of rage. He becomes a passionate animal, beautiful to watch, pouncing and rich with emotion and love. I love him and I want him and still he sits there with the three boys he gave me, the three boys that were my life before I turned nineteen. To think that we've made so much together...
I want my husband.
I cannot think of anything but him, nothing but my family, and I am filled with so much that I wonder if it is normal. Why don't you come over here and sit with us? Harry asks me now, but I cannot stop writing about him, the way he has a flat, muscular stomach and red fuzz all over his freckled arms. The way his back bends forward and I can feel his shoulder blades under my hands, the way he is ticklish right under his chin. The way I can fit tightly inside his arms, as if I were just another child he'd made.
I want him, and Rev knows it and won't stop looking at me. What? I am asking him as I type. A pause. You're being naughty, he says, laughing, but I am not, but how does he know? None of your business, he says, but I'm sure it's in my face. He comes to sit over and I have to shield my screen. May I read? he says, and I say no. I kick him away from me in my socked feet and he pulls my legs into his lap. Shouldn't these children be going to be soon? he asks Harry loudly and I feel his leg twitch under mine. Though, why should he help me be with my husband when it is nothing he wants? I look at him now and kiss his cheek. You are the greatest mate, you know, I say. You can read this if you like, but it will hurt you. I know, he answers, but I want to read it because it's you. I kiss him again.
I will never sleep with all this love in me.
Looking over at him now, his loving smile that washes over our children, the older ones, as they write in their workbooks, color in the pages and explain how they have learned mathematics. The way he tucked the baby in as she gurgled and looked at his face one last time, his big hands pulling the covers over her freshly washed body. So sweet and gentle is he, the one who made me shiver at sixteen as he lead me to his bed and made me feel warmer than I've ever felt before. The one who never yelled nor hit me, but grabbed my shoulders and stared into my eyes when I admitted my affair. The one who kissed me so hard my lips bled because he thought he was losing me. The one who held me as I cried, the one who saved me and took blows for me both from our elders and from our peers. Who never once raised his voice at me in anger. Who has always believed in me. The one who caresses my notebooks of writing as if they were our children. I want him.
What are you so busy over there doing? he asks me now, smiling knowingly, turning the page for Tuck as he reads to himself. Look how pretty your mother is, he says, and Tuck makes a face and Rev laughs but is looking too. Look how pretty you are! I cry back, giggly and silly, not freshly in love but always in it, drowning in the way I know how he smells and the way he steadily fingers his pockets. I want to tell him that he wants me now, too, but three of my boys are still up, doing work like good little bees, feeling proud of so many accomplishments that occupy their day. I walk over to Rev and whisper, cupping my hand over his ear as if I were a gossiping schoolgirl. Your best friend wants me, I say, and Rev nods and laughs, motioning me to come forward. Yes he does, should I tell him? I feel his warm breath on my neck, and he pulls free of me, laughing, but letting his hand linger on my arm...
My Reverend, my dearest friend, living his life with me and my husband, watching us, loving both of us, us loving him as a pair. Wanting both of us in separate ways, I'm sure. Thinking of us if we weren't tied down to each other, the fun he'd have with Harry as a friend, me as a...Well, I see it in his eyes sometimes.
But it is Harry I want now. His auburn hair in my fingers as I pull his face to mine, and a cool brush of his nails against my back and shoulders. I want him to put his hands on my hips, big and rolling from childbirth, still beautiful with transparent white skin and the cushion of pleasure and gluttony. I want him to squeeze them, squeeze me, my sexual self in place just for him, and think nothing of the way I have left him for another man's bed, yet still be jealous because I am me. When Harry is jealous, he is never mean, never hurtful or proud or full of rage. He becomes a passionate animal, beautiful to watch, pouncing and rich with emotion and love. I love him and I want him and still he sits there with the three boys he gave me, the three boys that were my life before I turned nineteen. To think that we've made so much together...
I want my husband.
I cannot think of anything but him, nothing but my family, and I am filled with so much that I wonder if it is normal. Why don't you come over here and sit with us? Harry asks me now, but I cannot stop writing about him, the way he has a flat, muscular stomach and red fuzz all over his freckled arms. The way his back bends forward and I can feel his shoulder blades under my hands, the way he is ticklish right under his chin. The way I can fit tightly inside his arms, as if I were just another child he'd made.
I want him, and Rev knows it and won't stop looking at me. What? I am asking him as I type. A pause. You're being naughty, he says, laughing, but I am not, but how does he know? None of your business, he says, but I'm sure it's in my face. He comes to sit over and I have to shield my screen. May I read? he says, and I say no. I kick him away from me in my socked feet and he pulls my legs into his lap. Shouldn't these children be going to be soon? he asks Harry loudly and I feel his leg twitch under mine. Though, why should he help me be with my husband when it is nothing he wants? I look at him now and kiss his cheek. You are the greatest mate, you know, I say. You can read this if you like, but it will hurt you. I know, he answers, but I want to read it because it's you. I kiss him again.
I will never sleep with all this love in me.
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