Of Her, Dreaming

We'd become entangled, locked at the lips. Temporarily inseparable.

Green stars spilled over the ceiling and swirled in slow spirals. They look like sperm, she said. They sort of did; galactic and green and swimming. In the dark, on the wooden floor beside us, a burning candle perfumed the room with vetiver, vanilla, and honey. As our skin touched, our bodies shared quiet secrets. They were effortless companions, complicit, sensitive and knowing. The cherrywood speakers hummed and velvet sounds sighed, deepening the air. Heat from my hand ironed smooth the small goosebumps on her arm.

I felt a deep comfort with her there. It was as though I were alone, but not lonely. Words were whispered between us, and tired laughter like twilight birdsongs faded into silence. She smiled, softly, and laughed, and I knew it in her eyes. I knew it in her kiss, and in the softness of her touch. I knew it in her sinking, shallow breath, and the safety of her sleep...in the foolish hopefulness of her perfect dream.