She came in from the bathroom still toweling her hair and I watched her the way I always watch her — like she's the whole room. I was already in bed. She hung the towel on the back of the door, and the way she did it, like she'd done it a thousand times, felt like a small sacred thing I was getting to witness. She crossed the room and sat on the edge of the mattress and started the lotion, slow and patient, and I didn't reach for her yet. I wanted to serve her tonight. I wanted to put my hands and my mouth everywhere she liked and take nothing, and watch her be entirely the thing she is. When she finally got under the covers I was already moving to her side of the bed, already lowering my head to her skin, already saying thank you in the way that my body was allowed to.
