I fold up the magazine and stuff it under our mattress-

it's one of those monthly girl-trash things that I pretend to hate when I'm anywhere other than this bed

but sometimes you learn something

"Did you know that when two lovers look at each other, their heart rates synch up?"

half-awake and half-coherent, he rolls onto his side, taking the blankets with him.

"I don't think that's true."

and before I can answer, he pretends to fall back asleep.

that's how it is some days

But sooner or later I'll come home to see him standing in the bathroom

hunched over the mirror like he needs to find new things to hate about himself

I'll add myself to the reflection

to point out every foul-mouthed, greasy-haired, broken-down thing I love in him

and our eyes will meet for just a moment

where I can swear his heart beats

beats

beats

in time with mine.