Goose Bumps by Father Luke
He feels the goose flesh rising on his arms.
And, in the light thrown from the lamp on the desk,
he watches the hairs. Each poked into individual bumps
becoming erect, and casting shadows on his arm.
What was that, she asks.
He turns to look at her entering the room.
Did you see that?
I saw you shiver, if that’s what you mean, she says.
She lays her hands on his shoulders, and rubs.
He imagines her grasping his chin,
and turning his head, snapping his neck.
The kids in bed, he asks.
They are, she says.
She grips and un-grips the muscles in his shoulder,
and his goose flesh melts. He relaxes into her touch.
She lifts his chin to look at his face.
Let’s call it a night, she says.
He smiles, and she smiles back at him.
Not a breeze in the room, but the drapes
flutter as they leave the room, and turn out the light.