late at night, when only broken teenagers
and felines are awake. maybe it's 3
(or 4, or 5)
or right when sunshine slinks through.
somewhere between consciousness and slumber.
i turn, fingertips brushing your skin,
warmth dispersing under my pores.
not fully awake, not quite asleep, i wrap my arm
around your torso,
my lips placing lazy kisses upon your freckles.
your fingers, from alertness, or habit, grasp onto mine.
and somewhere between the state of consciousness and slumber,
i fall back asleep.

if you are going to ask what my favorite thing is, or
what on this earth makes me the happiest,
i would tell you to read the lines above