4AM, you are asleep, I am awake. I am writing love notes on your back. Engraving curves of double “R“‘s and tails of “Y“‘s in “sorry“‘s and “thank you“‘s, imprinting the words I had never allowed myself to form from an overload of pride. I trace a “thank you for being here” into your golden skin and watch your mouth for some flicker of a smile, but nothing, what was I expecting?… it’s 4AM. “Sorry for being such a handful” with the nail of my index finger, and see the hairs on the nape of your neck rise as a sign of recognition, you felt that one. A fevered arm reaches and pulls me close as you turn your body towards mine, legs intertwined, hips, chest, and nose aligned.
Amazing the way your body yearns for mine, to feel and touch and be as one, amazing the way my body longs for yours, to feel the heat of your breathing against my skin. You muffle closer scratching rough chin hairs across my face, and there it is, the sweet taste of tolerance from your lips so early that morning. Your smile grazes upon my smile and our smile coalesces to linger in that 4AM air awhile as I drift off with you.
Still half conscious between sleep and wake, in that place between wakefulness and dreams is where our spirits find themselves kindred. Maybe I’m dreaming you, maybe you’re dreaming me, one thing for certain is we can’t keep our hands off each other when we dream. Somewhere in the silent twilight between my mind and your mind sits the small voice of you and I, perched in the soul of both of us it sings a tune without words and never stops at all. A song only we can hear, a soft susurrus I’ve decided sounds like: “come sleep with me, we won’t make love, love will make us.”
At 2PM you’ll wake, and ask me of my dream. You are, and always have been, my dream, I’ll say.