New England Dreams

It was a quiet New England Sunday morning. We awoke at whatever time it was, neither of us seemed bothered by the time… there were no lunch plans, nor ideas for how to spend the afternoon. We talked about how we should spend the day with hands intertwined. You picked up your book from the night stand and read me a few of your favorite passages. I listened intently, loving the sound of your voice. We started the day in bed, just as we ended the night before… your fists in my hair, my nails in your back, a tangled mess of hands and limbs. You rose from the bed, but I remained… relishing in the warmth from where your body had laid, your scent on your pillow, and the sight of your naked back as you made your way to the closet. You kissed my forehead before heading to the kitchen, where I found you pouring me a cup of coffee, knowing how I take it. I chopped the mushrooms for the omlettes, and we moved about the kitchen, stealing little touches and kisses from one another. It was a Sunday worth dreaming…

In my solitude you haunt me with reveries of days yet to happen.