His shaven face purrs.
Then day-old whiskers hurt and burnish.
Two-day-old growth tickles.
Three-day growth is too much.
She leaves for a week.
Ten-day growth intrigues.
Will she forgive his first three days?
Two weeks in, she agrees.
Except for my four-day-old unshaven face needing a whisker scrubbing, I’ve no idea where this blurted out non-rhyme came from. But I like it. The rum may have nudged it along.