“Whatcha got there?”

“It’s a surprise.” She says thumbing through a notebook. She looks concentrated on finding what she’s looking for. All she needs is her trademark glasses and an art magazine and I’d had the other part of Bette that I love in bed with me.

“Well can I at least see the title?” Ok, clearly this is more important than I realized. Maybe it’s her diary.

“Why do you have that?”

“For the same reason I had that song picked out for us, T. Because I love you. Sometimes a song or in this case a poem will tell you how much, better than I could.” Not possible, as sweet as songs and poems are, the way she looks at me or the way she holds me when I’m scared (which has been often), happy, or excited gives me all the proof that she loves and needs me as much as I do her.

“That’s very romantic of you.”

“Nope just the right thing to do. Here it is. Do you mind if I read this to you. It is the morning after, you know.”

What can I say, with the simple things that she remembers about last night. There’s not much I can say without crying myself so I just try to lighten the mood a little before she gets all romantic on me again. “Please go ahead. Just do me one favor and stop saying ‘morning after’.”

“Deal.” She says. And then she proceeds to relax me and arouse me at the same time with her voice. I can’t say this aloud but I haven’t heard a word of what she saying. All I can concentrate on is her lips and the tone she uses to express her love. Never once does she look up at me while she reads. Maybe she embarrassed to be so raw in front of me. The poem stripping her of all her defenses around me. But I’m starting to enjoy studying her body language. The way she knits her eyebrows during a certain stanza, the amount of times she tucks the hair that tumbles in her eyes behind her ears. I guess these are all of the little moments that happen with the person you care about that makes you fall in love with them a little more. She finally finishes, but she pauses before she looks up my expectant eyes.