His head next to mine, he falls asleep in an instant, as if hit hard from behind or rendered unconscious by a drug. I wonder if it was my voice or the words I was almost but not quite saying, cautious words, the kind that wander deep and surface only when it is dark and our bodies have broken open so far that fear and uncertainty can escape.
There is something childlike about his sudden retreat into an untouchable distance, as if closeness was too much to bear for both of us. Something childlike about his face as I watch it asleep, less contoured than ever before, his skin a stormless sea, smooth. Silken. Perfect.
The last sentence of the first paragraph is, to my taste, too long. But it is brilliant. It weaves its through several ideas and comes out the labyrinth with pieces of truth still sticking to it.
Bravo
Love this part: and two bodies have broken open so far that fear and uncertainty might escape.
Maybe try the first paragraph without "one's mind"?
Thanks so much for reading and your comments, Steve and Frankie. Nice call on "one's mind", Frankie. I agree.
"...surface only when it is dark and our bodies have broken open so far that fear and uncertainty can escape."
Never so aptly said. Perfect pitch throughout.