My Own Husband

The morning sun was, but one width above the horizon, when I awoke. I reached across the bed to touch my beloved husband, as I do each day when I first awaken. Why? I think I do such, so to reassure me that our marital life has not been, but a dream, only a figment of my heart and mind.

Reassured once again, I find that over the night our love has deepened and matured, but still I perceive no bottom to this wondrous well. I love you husband more today than yesterday and I shall love and care for you, forevermore.

I arise and go to my mirror so to brush the tangles from my hair. As I brush, I gaze sleepily into my three mirrors, aligned in a row. First, I see my sleepy body. Soon, my image fades into a fog in the central mirror, and in the left mirror, I see myself as a maid once again, as the maid I was when first I fell in love with you, darling husband.

Soon, your image appears in the right mirror before my eyes, my precious lover. I see you as the young man who brought me wild flowers gathered from the forest. The young man who spoke to me in words written surely by an angel. The young man, his eyes burning with an unearthly fire, such fire penetrating far into my soul. This fire so tender, so warm, and so full of true love. I knew then, husband, that you were my polar half, split away from me in times long past.

Soon these images merge into the central mirror so to produce a great light, and I know I am only yours and have always been so.

Most days, I go prepare some breakfast, but today I jump on top of you and tell you to make love to me, for I desire to be without boundaries. . . . . . .