Old Spice

He walks from the bathroom mostly dry,

except for a few runaway droplets off his hair.

Wrapped in a towel bare-chested he lays

himself down on the bed, face up under the fan.

Still in pajamas I lay next to him,

my head on his chest. And I can smell it.

The scent of his Old Spice deodorant 

releases into the air as he lifts his arms overhead.

There's something about that scent, 

something completely him.

He dresses and I drink my coffee,

and our workday is nearing.

A kiss goodbye and he's off.

A sip of my coffee and I'm in the bathroom

running my shower. 

Standing naked, waiting for the water 

to reach perfect temperature,

I'm left there, with the faded scent of him on my face.

Old Spice, classic.

Trust, Completely

More than anything or anyone, I trust my husband. Although I knew this, as we've been married for over 20 years and been together almost 30, I know it now on a deeper physical level. We were rafting down the Nantahala River, and I was in the front of the ducky boat, my husband at the back. The stronger more experienced paddler is usually stationed at the rear to control the steering. I hadn't been whitewater rafting since a trip in upstate New York, when I was a young child. I didn't do much. In fact in the photo, my family members are all around me paddling and I've got my tiny hands tucked inside my life vest, trying to stay warm. They all have determined looks of concentration, and I just looked and smiled. But I digress.

We were rushing down the river, navigating considerably mild class II rapids towards the class III Nantahala Falls at the end of our trip. Class II is considered mild because there are intervals of upbeat-paced flow with no whitewater. I can't say I ever felt like I was in major danger, but of course there's a certain level of risk with any of these activities. The river flows fast and it can be unpredictable. The force can be strong and there is a lot of rock. The water is also incredibly cold and crisp, bearable for us that day because the air temperature was in the upper eighties or lower nineties.

We hit an area of rock, and my husband lost his balance trying to steer us clear of it. He went over and I had to grab his vest while he hung onto the side of the raft. Knowing I wouldn't have the strength to drag him back on, I just held on so he could catch his breath. Then he had to pull his entire body back on, I was there as a tether. I had enough strength to keep him close. He finally got himself aboard, and then we had to chase down his paddle that had gotten loose and was taking its own journey down the Nantahala! I gave up my paddle so he could steer us and I kept my eyes fixed on the runaway paddle. Within a few minutes, we were able to catch up to it, and Paul used my paddle to link onto his. We got it and we were back to business as usual.

I asked Paul if he was okay, and other than losing one of his favorite hats to the river, he caught his breath and assured me he was alright. As we settled back in, he told me he could have held on, but eventually realized any effort to contort himself to stay on, was likely to flip the boat and send me over as well. He didn't want that, so he "took a dive" for me. I smiled warmly and we continued down the river. We soon hit one of the quieter and calmer spots, when you have time time take in your surroundings. We admired some beautiful luxury cabins along the river's edge and fantasized about having one as a summer home. We watched other rafters struggle and some kayakers hotdogging.

And in that moment, I felt an assurance. It was a strange time and place but I said to my husband, "This may sound weird and corny coming from me at this moment, but I want you to know something... I would do anything with you. I trust you so completely. As long as you're with me I would do just about anything." I couldn't see his face, but he responded.

"That's good. That makes me feel really good." And I thought, me too.

Collection of Love Poems

My husband's birthday is tomorrow. He will be 45. As his birthday approaches, so too does the anniversary of the day we met. It was the summer before my junior year of high school, his senior year, and he had just turned 18. Do the math, and you'll realize that's 27 years. We got married after the first seven and never looked back. We have a strong marriage, we're both committed and we really love each other. I mean really love each other. Sometimes when I think about it, I'm amazed at how much my love for him has grown even stronger over the years.

Tonight he's out of town, and I never feel totally settled when I get into an empty bed.  A few years back we agreed to create a morning and evening routine so that we would always go to bed together at the end of the evening. We wake up together and go to bed together. Today's blog is a collection of  love poems I've written over the years, all with my husband in mind. They bring me warm thoughts of him to take to bed, so I can fall asleep peacefully (I hope). You'll notice the last two are quite similar, written about waking up together. They were actually written more than a year apart. As I collected the poems for this post, I smiled at the similarity. It's one of my favorite moments in the day. My writing group loved this one I wrote last month as well: I Believe I Would. Tomorrow I'm going to give it to him as a birthday card.

His Hand

His hand

It's been holding mine for years

It held mine on the day we exchanged vows

and it still has the power of comfort and affection, even after 25 years.

Like when he winds a ringlet of my hair around his finger

or tucks my hair behind my ear

Or when he runs the warmth of his hand up my back,

beneath my shirt and touches me skin to skin

I know he is a gentle man.

His hand

It holds my face before he kisses me on the lips,

It holds my hand in a parking lot or during an evening walk

our fingers laced and locked together

His hand heals me.

Like when he rubs out the knots in my shoulders

Or when he puts out his hand as if to say "gimme five"

but he just wants me to put my hand in his hand so he can hold it.

I know this because he's done it for years.

His hand

It lays on my thigh in the car while he drives,

It lays over mine on the couch while we watch TV

and he turns my wedding band in circles around my finger.

His hand warms me.

Like when he picks up my hand randomly and kisses each of my finger tips one by one.

Or when he unapologetically swipes his hand across my rear

even if we're in public or someone else is around.

I know from his hand he still wants me.

His hand

It is so much bigger than mine, with the calluses of a hardworking man

and the touch of a loving husband and father

It cradles and protects mine.

His hand supports me.

The warmth of his skin, the gentle strength in his touch

I love to hold his hand as much now as I ever did

when we walk into someplace strange

when we walk around the block.

Forever, I'll hold his hand.

***

My Love

Ask me how my day was,

and tell me you're happy I'm home.

Kiss me, hold me tight, 

and say you love me.

You are my safe place,

my home, my peace.

My love, 

my one and only

Love

***

Lovers

Lovers don't finally meet somewhere. They're in each other all along.

Lovers comfortable together in silence, they

don't need words to communicate. They

meet as one, eyes locked in gaze with resolve.

Somewhere inside there is a familiar reverberation

they're connected, spirit and soul

in search of a song, wandering

Each one knows they heard the tune before

Others listen and see.  It is clear

all the melodies are between them.

Along the harmonious journey, a lovers' song.

***

Early

Soft fingery tickles 

Tender warm caresses

He gently sweeps the wispy hairs from my face

And cradles his thighs beneath my buttocks

He pulls me close and whispers

I love you

Pressing his skin to mine

I can feel his heart

He pulls his fingertips the length of my arm

Each of my tiny hairs stand on end

It is early, I insist with my eyes still closed

He pulls me in closer

A kiss behind my ear

And I feel his love

His early morning affection

My daily vitamin

***

Morning

Warm, delicate cuddles under a hand sewn quilt

on a cool winter's morning

I resist the reflex to open my eyes

and wish away the dawn with every passing snooze

My legs, entangled with his and the sheets

restrain me from the call of the day

My face, his chest, our embrace

I draw strength with each additional minute

Like a charging station

Wrapped up in his arms I draw energy

I have light, I have power, I have music

And he releases me into the day 

I will shine

I will create

I will sing

And I will return again 

to my love