In Late Bloom

She lies awake,
on her half of the bed,
unable to get comfortable –
and huffs in frustration,
as she hauls the extra weight into an attempt at a better position.

‘It’s like this every time’, he reminds her sypathetically.

Curled on one side,
then another,
momentarily flat on her back before she begins to feel breathless –
mumbling something grumpy,
she moves again.

Yes it’s always like this,
but each time it seems to come sooner.
She is hot, then cold, then gassy
And irked with the unpredictable house she has become.
It doesn’t feel fun.

He kisses her mouth,
Tells her he loves her,
Is proud of her, and that it won’t be long now.

“Soon my love. ”

And she softens,
Whispers a prayer of thanks for such a man,
Her man.

Resting her head on his chest,
She melts into sleep.
For now.

Decided that it is always worth it.

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