when he sleeps all the lines smooth away from his face and i see the boy i fell in love with tangled in our old quilts and snoring softly.
the moment i focus on the shadowy stubble forming on his cheeks and chin is so poignant my body feels hollow,

ready to recieve his breath.

in watery morning sunlight i feel so in love with the sleeping man that i stroke his arm, and squeeze the muscle, and bite his neck.
groggy, "what was that for?" i nuzzle into his heated armpit; whisper, "to let you know you're not dreaming."