Resting Wicked

Last night I slept lightly, with the wind from our ceiling fan gently grazing my skin as I tucked myself under my tattered quilt.

The days seemed longer and the nights, too short. My dreams were fleeting and my sleep, light as feathers.

I woke to the dim morning hues of grey-blue and soft white. The air was delicate and the silence thickly hung amidst our inhales and sweet exhales.

And there was the sea of sheets, ebbing and caressing my legs hung out to dry from beneath the squares of yesterday and forever quilted together.

I felt so far from you, yet there you were, an arm’s length away. The rise and fall of your sleeping form shuttered the wispy sheets that pooled between us.

Reaching across the space, snaking across time, my fingertips met with your warm skin hugged so tightly beneath your blankets and dreams.

Over the hills of your hips to the curves and valley of you stomach did my hand travel. And, resting there, I fell into slumber with your body against mine.

Together we rose and fell, our breath the only sign of life between us. You muttered. I hummed in response. We rested peacefully, embraced.

No longer existing between, the gap was replaced with my form pressing against yours. And together, entwined, we napped in blissful repose.


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