Feet have a lazy notion to the find floor lost somewhere under the pile of our clothes, discarded in our youth a moment ago falling hungry in an afternoon of us.
The square smile of the windowβs face finds arms napping peacefully where they fell. Legs entangled like a passion pretzel, so whose toes are whose.β¦ who can tell?
Under our sheet of perspiration formed while we wrestled and renaissanced, we find the cool at last to sleep before weβre born again.