on the morning of my forty-second birthday

The kneading of my broad swimmer’s back by Adrean my beloved is the
first gift. I nuzzle my pillow and inhale. I sniff my glorious hands. They take
their turn at the giving. She says I am a furnace. In the shower I dig into my
bestubbled cheeks. I scrape each fingernail against the right bottom corner
of my upper left lateral incisor. My marvelous mouth pats the harvested skin
into a soft dab. It rests tasteless on my tongue until I step out. My comb
tickles my lips with a bouquet of pandemic hair. I sample the bitter end of a
Q-tip and am satisfied. The fennel toothpaste searches me and tries me and
finds me lacking in a few places. For Jael still sleeping I am a squeeze at their
ankle. For Armand I am a known engulfment from behind. For Azel I am a
quip and a laugh on his chest. For loafed and purring Angel I am a massive
swoon. For hungry Nib I am two legs to rub against back and forth and to
loop around with the most eloquently insistent tail in the animal kingdom.