“My love for you is eternal,” he said, sliding the razor down her calf.
They did this often on Sunday afternoons: eat a heavy, languorous lunch, drink a bottle or two of wine, fall into a shower/bath that would carry on for over an hour. They took turns washing each other, one standing, the other sitting. His big treat was shaving her legs.
“Eternal and gushing and sometimes almost too much to contain,” he continued, “but I’ve come to realize that it’s really me in love with you that I love. I love who I am with you.” He squeezed a dollop of shaving cream into his palm, smeared it on her other calf, shaved a perfect stripe from her knee down to her ankle. “You’re the greatest carnival mirror this clown could ever ask for.”