Of Science
hips like bowls
He liked going to bed with her. With her hair damp and shampoo-fresh against his collar. With her skin warm and soft, smelling of honey and lavender. Sometimes she smelled faintly like day-old sex or yesterday’s sunshine. Sometimes she unwound like a spool of thread.
Whenever they slept in the same bed, she would curl up like cat, protecting her sense of self. Her head would rest on his chest. Her knees pulled up and her hands secured around her middle or under her cheek. He would stay up and wait until her breathing pattern slowed and he could no longer feel her eyelashes fluttering against his collarbone.
She was soft and calm, despite everything, and he liked that. She spoke in breaths and gasps. Her voice was always soft, except when she laughed. But even then, she would hide her face and look up at him through her lashes. Sometimes she memorized science articles, things about time and space that he didn’t care to hear. Instead he listened to her voice break the airwaves. He listened to her ribcage and her heart, instead. Sometimes, she talked to fill the heavy silence. That was okay with him. She spoke in stanzas.
Her wrists were bony and delicate in a way that made him think of babies and wires and birds. Her fingers stretched out gracefully, like a pianists. Her nails were long and once, in bed, she had run them along his back, tracing his spine. She had hips that were like carved clay bowls. They weren’t like other boys and girls, whose razor edge hipbones cut into his. Hers were gentle, hidden underneath three layers of nearly translucent skin.
That’s what she had told him, one day while she was adding sugar to her tea. Usually she hummed or sang a song that he didn’t know, but that day she recited another science article. Something about how we all have three layers of skin. Something about how our skin is the largest organ in our bodies. It was silly, how she spoke science like some spoke of poetry and literature. Throwing out words like incandescent and photon and spectroscope. She’d talk, but it never meant anything more. He got the feeling she memorized this stuff so she had something to talk about.
All those layers of skin lay stretched over her hipbones and collarbones. Her veins running fluid underneath. She smelled sweet and she lied in the sunlight that spilled out from the open windows. He counted her heartbeats. Kept track of her breaths until she fell asleep.
In her sleep she opened up like a flower. Blossomed like a beam of light. Her joints came undone and her voice relaxed to just a whisper between them and their body heat.
Whenever they slept in the same bed, she would curl up like cat, protecting her sense of self. Her head would rest on his chest. Her knees pulled up and her hands secured around her middle or under her cheek. He would stay up and wait until her breathing pattern slowed and he could no longer feel her eyelashes fluttering against his collarbone.
She was soft and calm, despite everything, and he liked that. She spoke in breaths and gasps. Her voice was always soft, except when she laughed. But even then, she would hide her face and look up at him through her lashes. Sometimes she memorized science articles, things about time and space that he didn’t care to hear. Instead he listened to her voice break the airwaves. He listened to her ribcage and her heart, instead. Sometimes, she talked to fill the heavy silence. That was okay with him. She spoke in stanzas.
Her wrists were bony and delicate in a way that made him think of babies and wires and birds. Her fingers stretched out gracefully, like a pianists. Her nails were long and once, in bed, she had run them along his back, tracing his spine. She had hips that were like carved clay bowls. They weren’t like other boys and girls, whose razor edge hipbones cut into his. Hers were gentle, hidden underneath three layers of nearly translucent skin.
That’s what she had told him, one day while she was adding sugar to her tea. Usually she hummed or sang a song that he didn’t know, but that day she recited another science article. Something about how we all have three layers of skin. Something about how our skin is the largest organ in our bodies. It was silly, how she spoke science like some spoke of poetry and literature. Throwing out words like incandescent and photon and spectroscope. She’d talk, but it never meant anything more. He got the feeling she memorized this stuff so she had something to talk about.
All those layers of skin lay stretched over her hipbones and collarbones. Her veins running fluid underneath. She smelled sweet and she lied in the sunlight that spilled out from the open windows. He counted her heartbeats. Kept track of her breaths until she fell asleep.
In her sleep she opened up like a flower. Blossomed like a beam of light. Her joints came undone and her voice relaxed to just a whisper between them and their body heat.