lying in bed with you on a sunday

The only light comes from the sun that shines through the blinds and barely touches your bare shoulder. Your hands twist in the sheets as you pull them close to your shadowed chin. The red curtains filter a warm glow in the room that make it impossible to pull apart the covers. I am impeccably warmed by the sun and the body in bed next to me. I wake first, pulling you from my dream and placing you tangled between my legs.

I watch your sleeping face. Your lashes slope, lending direction to your cheeks and mouth, an impish smile formed from a romp in the brain’s frolicsome fields. What’s going on in that head? What kind of imagination is blooming along these blankets? I reach out and run my fingers across your fringe.

And then you open your eyes in your usual slow manner, glints of light like celestial sparks highlighting grey rounds. You smile as my face forms in your senses. A soft moan of recognition tickles your throat. You pull me in closer to your chest and I smell mint along your neck.

I delve deeper into the delicacy of your dimples. This is my church. This is my sermon. You are my sanctuary. Your smile is a sacrament. I receive your flesh, am warmed by your blood as it rushes like ink that writes scripture on your skin. I could easily lie here with you for days, filling up on the gospel of your lips, praying a thousand thanks for your presence.

This is our day off from work and the world. There is no alarm, no obligation, no need to gravitate toward tea and toast. We are content and complete within the nourishing heat of flesh and flannel. I am drunk with sleep, my belly swelled with love, safe to again fall unconscious in your arms.

We have no plans, no desire to dally away from the curvature of our backs, the smooth hair and shiny teeth. Nose to nose, we send salutations to our skin before retreating back into the tranquil pool of sleep, wading in the water of a peaceful day, taking comfort in the heat of each other, slipping away in the face of a brand new morning.

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