I look down at your fingers gliding over my skin, softly, carefully. Your fingertips burn secret trails etched for me to read and keep. My body is healing, a patchwork collection of odds and ends, misshapen dreams and blurred emotion that you seem to stitch up so neatly.
I always wake with a start after a slumber with you; shocking myself into consciousness; uncertain whether I am dreaming or awake. I glance over at your tousled hair, sleepy calmness and lips parted in a slight smile. I sit in silent bliss; the crack of morning light through the window shows promise of the day ahead and I settle with the thought of sharing coffee with you in half asleep moments, calm.