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Description
Silence,
it is the wind tapping his nearby window.
I feel the rustle of the sheets,
warm body heat dancing on my thighs.
The alarm won't sound for another hour.
Risen sun,
late starts are our sunday ritual.
Roll back over,
enveloped in your scent.
Would be my favourite moment,
if not for the ones made before we fell asleep.
Gentle breathing,
we don't need to speak in raspy morning tones.
Naked, comfortable,
skin to skin never felt so routine.
If pillows could talk,
I know they'd say the dirtiest things.
Love is this and this is love.
Late starts are our sunday ritual.