Exponents

“Everything there is was made at the beginning,” I say to her. “All the atoms, all the threads, all the pieces, came from that one moment of creation.”

I rest my head against her stomach. She touches my hair and pulls the blanket higher over my shoulder.

“A billion billion stars shine, and a billion billion planets spin. On those planets, there’s a billion billion wings and fins and feet and hands on a billion billion lives that fly and swim and walk and touch.”

I put my hand against her hip, against the warm skin there.

“And those billion billion lives are the children of a billion billion lives that have gone before, and they will be the parents to a billion billion more to come.”

I slide my hand up, and put one finger against a spot on her stomach. “Not one of them has this freckle right here.”

I move up along the length of her body and whisper something into her ear, words for her alone. “Not one of them will know my secrets.”

I kiss her lightly on the mouth, her lips soft and full. “Not one of them tastes like rainclouds in summer.”

I rest my hand against the side of her face and look into her eyes. “Not one of them is my Bez.”

Not one in a billion billion.

The rain patters against the bedroom window.