I lay next to you in our old wooden bed,
it is still early, the sun is just beginning
to peek through the curtains and beams of soft light
filter across our sheets. Your back is to me,
a blanket covers half your naked body,
which rises and falls slowly,
to the beat of sleeping breaths.
I connect the dots across your shoulders,
my finger grazes the smooth freckled skin
and I can see goose bumps rise upon your neck.
I smile, because even after all these years,
even though I know what the dots create,
I can still make your hair rise.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 1:46 PM UTC
I lay next to you in our old wooden bed,
it is still early, the sun is just beginning
to peek through the curtains and beams of soft light
filter across our sheets. Your back is to me,
a blanket covers half your naked body,
which rises and falls slowly,
to the beat of sleeping breaths.
I connect the dots across your shoulders,
my finger grazes the smooth freckled skin
and I can see goose bumps rise upon your neck.
I smile, because even after all these years,
even though I know what the dots create,
I can still make your hair rise.