I keep still,
enjoying the moment,
drinking it in
like the glasses I pour down my ever-parched throat.
I smile.
He laughs about my happiness, and
we stare at each other until I get embarrassed all over again.


He has always made me beautiful.
He has waged war on my confidence.
But when I am here
with the curve of his smile
and the curve of my hip
all I can see is sunlight and now.

I had given up on enjoying myself
when he had given up on enjoying my company.

And I pushed it all under aching muscles,
sore joints,
pounding head,
pounding feet on the pavement,
long showers to wash it all off.

When we dance we miss steps.
When we reach for each other,
our fingers wrap around not quite enough.

But here he is again,
admiring the new lines of my legs and laughter.

There's no future here;
no picket fence, office door, carpool lane,
four posts guarding me on restless nights.
I don't need a straight line future.
I find I like the curves far better.