When we were close, we laughed together at cartoons on Saturday mornings. No rushing to get to work, a half hour or so, just luxuriating in togetherness. Sometimes we made love before the giggling started. Sometimes after, sometimes in the middle. The sheets twisting around our legs, musk drifting in the air, drying tendrils of sweat, the tender awkward positioning of new love making an easy contrast to cartoons. We loved things sillier that us. Newly made us.
When the distance between us became greater than love, cartoons were muted as we argued on Saturday mornings. The sheets bound my legs, our smell choked my breath and my skin longed to be free of your sweat. There was too much between us. Laughter had left but I wanted it back. I waited for it’s return.
One Saturday morning when you were gone, I tuned to Discovery channel. I watched birds that mated for life and mammals left behind to raise their young after the rut. I laughed at the mystery of it all.