When I awake,
The rain has stopped- mostly.

I turn over to take in the glory of your resting form.
Your breath:
slow
deep
rhythmic
Makes me think of the days we spent by the sea,
taking refuge from the burning sun under striped umbrellas
that never stood quite right,
Drinking diet cola from cans that the sand always stuck to.

Your countenance, though now serene,
Is the same one that glared at me, exasperated,
as I drove us home only hours ago,
with the windows down and the rain
pelting our faces,  
soaking our T-Shirts and stinging my hand,
which I had ****** outside.

I chuckle at the memory:
the way the humidity curled my hair
and created the oppressive sensation of being in a sauna,
making respiration difficult.

Seeing the clock,
I curl back up to your warm body under our worn-out cotton sheets,
close my eyes,
and return to sleep's abundant shores.