and there's a fire

fingers a bit cold

and bellies warm with food,

she leans into me,

opens my sweater

and nuzzles my middle.

"let's be close," she says.

we practice French in the tub

"my nails.  mes ongles."
she makes waves with her legs
"look at all my scabs."

my home

let this be my castle
let this be my fortress
let them hold me here, captive in this perfect prison forever and ever.
let this be my tomb.