Sometimes, though rarely, when you hit a ball hard, you’ll grunt. I love to hear your muffled grunt. It makes me think that this is how you groan when you come. I like thinking of you coming. It brings you down to earth, makes you human, gives a sound to exertions that might otherwise slip unnoticed. I want to see your face when you come. I look at myself in the mirror as we’re shaving almost shoulder to shoulder in the tennis house and imagine you’re sending me the nod. I wonder what it must be like to be you, to look in the mirror whenever I catch my reflection and simply nod two to three
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