Just like the mornings when you don't want the sun to peek through the curtain just yet. You recede back into the covers wrapped in your lover's limbs.

This is the part where you exhale the imploding universes you have locked away inside you. Inhale her whispers in your neck. Just like the ones your mother shushed you to sleep with, when fever flushed your cheeks. The same shade of red that colors them now when she tells you "You're beautiful"