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I am lying on the floor, chin in hands,looking up.

You are reading from a book but I know you're cheating. You are mixing in your own words with the author in a way that makes the book more like a snapshot of our lives than a work of fiction.   

You keep a straight face and never take your eyes off the page, although they sparkle when you are composing and I notice they blink when I go "Hey, thats NOT in there."

  (She was adding a scene about a guy who places M & Ms on his girlfriends back--I only did four red ones, it wasn't like an orgy or anything).


I finally close my eyes and stop interrupting. No more trying to separate out your words from Mr.Published.    You speak clearly and slowly and it is as reassuring as windchimes. There are enough juicy parts to keep me awake, but I am relaxed enough to nap.

Finally there is silence and I open my eyes to see you, book closed and under one arm as you lean down, combing my hair with a fingertip.

" Whatcha doin?" I ask..and you grinned.
                                                            I'm done talking,


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