The Sunburn

Last night when I couldn’t move

and you couldn’t touch me

because my pale exterior had

turned a deeply sensitive crimson 

from the sun's familiar abuse,

I had your head cradled in

the spot below my shoulder

and I could lay comfortably

with my chin on your temple,

nose at the top of your forehead.

I was awake, thinking of how

somebody once told me about

her boyfriend’s obsession with fore-

heads, because of the

concentration of pheromones there

that are addicting to those

who are attracted to you.

you are the scientist, i am the writer

who knows if it's true.

regardless; your sweet, clean, 

softly masculine smell

fell into my nose and I was

infinitely, blissfully comfortable.

My skin no longer burned,

the city became muted.

it was just me, with you, content.

holistically content.

I waited until your breathing slowed and caught

in your throat like tangled strings 

and I whispered,

“I love you.”