The sound of her heart beating next to him kept him awake. In the dead of night he was alive with passion. As the minutes went on it grew thick within him, breathing and stretching and maturing in his chest. He was roused next to her as she drifted away far from the world they had shared just a few short moments ago.

He wanted her to stay. He wanted her to be awake and alive and wild with him, like the flowers that grew on the south side of a valley. But she wandered off into the distance and wouldn't return for the next few hours.

It was his fault, he knew that. She had told him once that his presence brought a sense of calm to her that she hadn't known since she was young girl sitting on her grandfather knee being rocked to the creek of his old rocking chair and that the pressure of his arms around her passively gave her a peace that could ooze a teething baby to sleep.

So, taking his punishment for wanting to hold her tightly, he watched her sleep. And allowed his passion to simmer and follow her into the nights wormhole. Caressed to sleep by the sound of her heart beating next to him.