Morning Greetings

Your fingers brush against my jaw line before I even open my eyes to see your face. Fingertips which have been over worked during the day are soft and inviting as you try to stir me from my slumber and into your wake. For a moment I am back, back in your apartment, where this first began.

I remember the first time we were like this; it was a Sunday afternoon in the middle of April. Your head against my chest my own fingertips worked through your chocolate hair, gently and unaware of how often we would be like this in the warmth of your full sized bed. Your apartment always smelled of old cinnamon and spice, while in the distance, the sounds of downtown traffic seemed soothing like a piano and violin duet. In your bedroom the oversized windows brought with it the sun, and when you looked into my eyes in the morning’s light your deep brown eyes were the colors of tigers-eye stones, bright, warm, and fierce. Your lips firm and unafraid of your quest to pull me from my dreams. You never knew that you were the dream.

My eyes open slowly, the pull of sleep still beckoning me to return, a few more minutes, but you refuse to let me fall again. “I never knew perfection slept so damn much.” You whisper in my ear, before your lips kiss my cheek. “Wake up…” You quietly plead.

“Did you even sleep?” I ask trying to sit up; your arms quickly pull me back down, pulling me closer to your bare skin. Your sheepish grin, a trade mark, greets me.

“No, not one bit…”