ASTRONOMICAL NUMBERS

Tim A. Fralick

I counted the times I’ve made love to my woman. The numbers were astronomical. The number of hot breaths felt across my face and chest, the number of times her legs reached the back of my thighs; and even the hours of time, numbers of minutes and seconds in touching without lust.

The stormy nights, numbers which stretched endlessly in my mind: the clouds, dark and cumulus that choked the sky, wind-shattered trees, and the rain that pounded the windows like angry knocks; this was my woman's favorite times of love. Our bodies mingled, then lightning revealed her frame. It was Venus rising, rising above me; a sweet sleepy smile of lust on her lips.

 In the aged gray matter of my mind, memories appeared like picket fences: time making them fade, their color dull and lusterless. Fooled by half-remembered images of our loving: numbers, fixed and unambiguous, guarded me against complacency.

I’ve counted the times where love is not sated: my own lust can't always satisfy my woman. I felt her irritation, not hating me but frustrated by unfulfilled desire. She never tried to explain, but I could see she wanted to: like having a word on the tip of your tongue but unable to speak it.

I’ve counted these times, for they bring acceptance. I came back to our bed on those nights, her body still lying like scissors thrown upon the bed. I noticed her frustration, her turning away; yet I came to her and spooned her from behind, her body still warm from this unfulfilled love. She never resisted this: I was her womb. She lay inside my thighs like a promise of birth. Yes, I counted the number of times I’ve done this, and they, too, were astronomical.

This is Tim's first published work. He has spent most of his life traveling. As of now, South Florida is his home, where the sun, sand and beach are right outside his home.