My sleeps here, because I’ve been next to a man (last week a stranger, this week an acquaintance) is sporadic, like I wake up and feel his hair brushing against my elbow and I shift closer to the edge of the bed because I know, it's like an essential truth, this isn’t my bed (it's the half-sleep of a watcher or squatter). As soon as he gets up and out my body sighs of relief, it actually curves into an S, Something relaxed not Sensual, my head falls deeper into the pillow, my arm wrap tighter around whatever and eight hours of tension melts away with the help of a rising sun.
(To my generous couchsurfing host, R---, to whom I owe, if not good rest, then everything else that shouldn't be taken for granted)
Love,
Winston
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