That Was Enough (Work in Progress)

I remember vividly the prickly stick of his beard hairs on my nostrils as I nuzzled up under his chin.

I remember the smell of the skin underneath and tried to reach it with the tip of my nose.

He pushed back, maybe trying to help, maybe not.  But he pushed.  He didn’t turn away.

That was enough.

That’s why I stayed.

I had this recurring, particular view of his face from his mouth down as he slept, lips parted, breath soft.

I would reach up with my fingertips and dance them on his lips as he tried to kiss them.

Our timing was never off,

except for once.

That was enough.