She said that when she crawled into her bright lime green bed, she smelled like me.
She said that I kissed her well. And that her stomach itches when she listens to me. That the blood coalesces at her midsection when I use my words.
She said, listens to me.
She said, my words.
Myriad. Multitude. Contingency. Prolix. Ardor. Lovelustcrush.
I said that I knew what the longest real word was.
She said that she was in love with me for these reasons.
She said that she loved me for all the reasons the rest of the world saw silly and could not love me. Would not see me.
She said that she lists them on her bookmark. My words. Vocabulary words. She said that she doesn’t get much reading done anymore. She said that she opens her book in her pillowy lime bed and just looks at the bookmark, and my words, until she falls asleep.
She said that, sometimes she wakes in a wild rush – to open her book, to make sure that it wasn’t a dream.
She said that I am her vigor. I am her reality. But she also said that I am a dream.
When she talks to me, she uses her words.
Intoxicating. Nauseous. Thrilling. Selfish. Nervous. Titillating. Butterflies. Electric. Shaking. Fascinating. Reckless.
…over and over and over.
I said, reckless. Again: reckless.
I also said that anything less is unacceptable.
She said that she was weightless.
Neither of us knew that it would happen like this.
She said, shhh…
She said that she curls her toes when I talk to her. She said that when I use my words, her knees come all the way up to her chest. She said that she’ll realize that her knees are so close and that her toes are so tightly curled that she will kick them out, under the taut bed sheet.
She said, shhh…
Close your eyes.
It’s like a tsunami.
She said, we are married now.
I said that consumerism is the equation which states that the buying of material goods equals happiness.
She said, we are married, so we are happy.
She said, I am in love with you.
She said, I become lusty at the thoughts of you. She said, all day long.
I said, yes, we are married. We talk in the morning time. When the kids get up and the school buses swing around the corner. We talk while the coffee brews and our imprints become deeper in the mattress. Here, in these mornings, yes we do stop the clock. For a little, little while.
She said she sighs every time she sees the words fairytale. Marriage. Love. Happiness.
I told her that unicorns aren’t real.
She said that she went to the store and bought every book that they had on fairy princesses. She said that she will rotate them on the coffee table for weeks to come.
She said that – soon, she is going to start taking coffee in the living room, instead of bed.
I said, I don’t want to have to get out of bed to talk to you.
She said, you don’t have to. You can stay in your own bed.
She sighed and said, I’m married. But I’m in love with you.
She said no, you didn’t leave any marks on my neck the other night.
She said, I stopped in the hall bathroom and looked in the mirror before I went upstairs. She also said that she didn’t know that she would carry my scent to bed.
She said she didn’t know I was that heavy.
She said pungent.
I said, acerbic.
I could hear a pen click. Breathing. Then I heard her close her book.
I said, are you still in bed?
She said, yes.
Then I told her that she was not in love with me.
I said you are in love with knowing that you are wanted. And I am in love with the same thing.
I said, yes, we are married to others. We talk over the phone when they are away.
And I feel fine by saying that I am in love with this.
I said that you are as beautiful as this moment is short.
She said. Nothing.