Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Hurry, get back in. I'm getting cold.

A warm spot on the corner of my mouth.  Soft with honey intentions and the slightest hint of boar's brush.  A low voice floats unobtrusively (welcomingly?) into the green-gray world of my subterranean eyelid reverie.

Another warm kissed spot.  A beloved tuck of hair behind my ear.  Gentle hand on my back.  Unfamiliar comforter delicious on my friction-less bare feet.

Stretch.  See.  Squint. Flop back to the sheets.  Squint again.

A conspiratorial smile bobs up into my sunlit waking consciousness like debris from a submerged vehicle.

The clicking and wet hot breathing of an unfamiliar coffee maker.  More sunlight.  Birds.

Green and gold outside.

I must have last night's makeup all over my face.  That's not cute, Christina.

I curl up into myself again and the softhearted smile before me fades away into memories of sensations felt only hours earlier.  Still fresh on my skin, branded into my muscle memory, I reminisce about the incandescent trails left by fingertips in the dark.  Driving home later is going to ache something fierce and fascinating.

More morning goes by.

Minutes?

Hours?

I could have as many warm spots on my mouth as I care to elicit with this feline behavior... all stretches and purring.

Five more minutes?

Coffee?

Exactly how I like it.

Participating in creating familiarity for me.  Small tokens.  Big dividends.  The exchange rate on this morning currency is high and cumulative.

The jockeys who were so sure they'd win a month ago are now strung out on daytime television and getting fatter by the day.  Ain't no horses for them now, sweetheart.

Laurels and gold await.  Onward.  Do not stop.

And in the mean time, I suppose I'll get my sweet patoot out of your bed now.

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