He Built Me a Bomb Shelter

He pushes me all the way to the edge of the bed.

Gets as close to me as possible,

Wraps his body around mine

Like he is a ribbon and I am Christmas.

I think he is hogging the bed.

I think I am taking up too much space

As he whispers ‘that’s exactly how much room you need.’

I feel guilt until he continues,

‘See how safe you are now?’

And I realize

He didn’t want to move me,

He wanted to protect me.

To comfort me.

He is completely right.

I lie relaxed and safe in his grasp.

I feel comfort in the contrast

Of our intertwined fingers,

While we fuck ravenously--

But hold hands the whole time.

As if we were making love.

I find comfort on his tongue,

And seek shelter between his lips.

He builds smoke signals out of my hips.

There is comfort in his morning offering of coffee

Which I never accept.

I am too picky about my coffee.

But the comfort is in the offering

The shared sacrament of caffeine.

The open invitation to always stay the night.

His eagerness to make sure I’m comfortable

The way he brings me the last fresh towel.

Using it only after I am dry and have left it damp.

I marinate in his always humble apology.

Meditate in the respectful undertones he sings to me.

I'm at ease in the room that we spent so many summer nights in.

Finding comfort in our candy stash and his cigarette ash,

And laughing at Cathy from Door-Dash.

A summer of safety in that room.

The best part of the hardest summer of my life.

He doesn’t even know

That he built me a bomb shelter

To survive the February fallout.