Irene

As the first deep throated rumblings of thunder roll in

I am nestled in the curvature of HIM

My face lies between his completely relaxed bicep and forearm

as his other arm, strewn across the depression of my abdomen

fingertips tucked beneath my right breast

I can feel the rise and fall of his chest

the even spacing of each breath

And I try to mimic his rhythm with my own

but his 6foot plus frame is equipped with lungs

far larger than my own

leaving an ebb and flow of in and ex halations

As my fascination with his creation grows

the intensity of the howling winds

outside seem to know something that I do not

screaming at me to stop

But I am oblivious to their dervishes whirling

confirming that the storm is only jealous of the security

I hold nestled in the curvature of HIM