Lying So Close

His scent fills up my stomach, stopping my hunger, lightening my
brain and my step. The dark loose knitted sweater is wrapped around my
face like a terrorist's mask, mingling with my woolly black hair. Only
my eyes are well defined and they are closed. I breathe deeply, taking
in as much as I can. I want to lie on the bed and have it cover my
face, but I'm afraid he'll come in. So I sit with crossed legs, face
buried deep, and my world is complete.
I conjure up his body. He lies close to me, as long as my wardrobe,
bitter sweat glistening on suede skin, thick curly hair mixing with
mine, his lazy Cleopatra eyes staring, all knowing. I make plans and
take off my clothes and put on his. The jumper falls below my knees and
the arms swing long. I look like an orphan, a loveless child. Then I
slip into sheets and disappear under soft clean linen. I am in hiding.
I face east and dream of being small and safe within his slim arms. I
wrap my arms across my chest, feel my new breasts beating and see his
long lean back, his wide angled shoulders tapering to slim waist.
Wonderful muscles, strong and soft, no hard definition, just graceful
strength.
I saw him this morning as he jumped from the toilet to his room. A
towel bunched tight around his shallow hips. His head dipping with
proud coyness, like a racehorse. One time he thought he was home alone
and I saw him walking around butt naked, relaxed and familiar,
listening to his walkman, snapping his fingers in time to a secret
melody. As I watched him walk away from me I wondered how come beauty
had so many forms and how come I got my father's build.