It’s the leaves I notice you noticing. They can only be dancing, as they dole out the sunlight to us.
I exhale for what feels like the first time in a week.
White lace curtains play the role of an undulating movie screen.
My hand finds yours under the white sheets and comforter.
If asked, you’d say that your hand found mine.
You probably wouldn’t have to be asked.
The shadows have slid further along the wall, to a clothes rack of dresses, each more flattering on you than the next.
Every one telling a story of the first time I saw you in it.
First kiss. The moment that totally striped away whatever coolness I maybe should had been trying to give off.
The white lace number that allowed you to teach me about layering, and about not being able to take my eyes off of something. “Force of nature” doesn’t fit when it is so very much voluntary.
The one I bought you. To prove to you that I have been paying attention. That I know you. That I get you.
That I want to see you in black tights again.
Legs so long, I think, they’re a two day trip.
I almost chuckle at the drowsy turn of phrase.
Not enough of me is touching you.
I role over on my side.
You do the same.
I snuggle in.
Left arm instinctively under. Right arm over. Squeezing.
I always feel bigger while spooning you.
There’s never been a better fit.
I press my lips against the top of your head.
You snuggle back against me.
The leaves continue to dance. I can hear them now.
The temperature outside of our one hundred percent cotton cocoon is dipping.
It’s one of those moments. I feel it. The kind that you daydream about, even while telling friends, “I don’t mind being single. I don’t need to be in a relationship.”
If this moment had a soundtrack, it would be The Shins’ “Simple Song.”
But I’m glad it doesn’t.
I want to listen to the leaves.
I want to listen to you breathe.
I want to–
I just need to tell you again.
“I love you,” you whisper.
I bury my face in your long hair.
You snuggle back against me even more.