Sundays are for lovers*

Come lie down next to me,

my fingers drawing circles in the palm of your hand,

your ear against my beating heart,

your lips drawing breath from my lungs.

Curl up against my waist and fit into my curves like the gods have created your body solely for mine. The sun comes in through light curtains, moving up your arm and throwing warmth onto your cheeks. I play with your hair as you’re caught in between your words and sleepy eyes.

The cat stretches and comes prancing to snuggle under your feet. Dancing shadows emanating from tea cups send aroma into our living room, while the soft screeching record turns, swaying melody in the corners of the house.

You sigh deeply and drift off into slumber,

my fingers intertwined with yours,

my mind at peace,

my heart in bliss.

There are moments of idle pleasure that bring back my soul to life: me bringing you serenity on a Sunday morning, you giving me a sanctuary on an Autumn’s day.

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Story of three.

I remember the time you put your tongue between my lips and told me how you’ve never kissed anyone with the taste of licorice in their mouths. You let your hands drop down my waist and said that I’m made of the bitter taste of Heaven. Your fingers traced my shoulder and my heart pounded like the fire of a million sun.

I saw in your eyes what I saw in all of my ones, the reasons why you and I could make atoms explode and recreate the universe.

I remember that morning I woke up, and your gentle embrace was holding me like a fetus that’s not ready to come out and face the world. And you told me that life could wait for us to just hide in between the folds of the waves crashing on our shore.

I felt like your body was the home I was desperately looking for, and your bones were the frame to the bed I wanted to sleep in forever.

I remember that day you took me by the hand and we ran across the fallen leaves. You broke my shell and told me that life is too short to do the same things twice. And you whispered to me that sometimes people are like memories even when they stain your sheets with wine.

I only understood that you were talking about me when I saw your slouching back running towards another fleeting flashback.

playlist:

Nym – Lesser Known Good

L’orange – The Good Shepherd

Degiheugi – Le Temps Est Bon (Remix)

 

 

Sundays are for lovers

With eyes half shut, and golden glows falling in cascade on your skin, I draw flowers sprouting from your spine. There are words that send me into a frenzy, and then there’s the sound of you breathing into this morning light. I see you wrapped up in sheets that don’t stand a chance to the softness of your touch and I wrap you up in arms that crave to get lost in you.

My dear, don’t get me wrong, I want you in all the glory of what that word  entitles… 

But when your chest rises and falls with such serenity, to the beat bursting through my veins, know that my walls crumble. And know that when I whisper I want you, it doesn’t just mean I want my skin against yours, it means I want to forget where my skin ends and yours begins.

Sundays are for lovers

Quiet feet touching under the soft covers as arms come closer and goosebumps dance together on our spines. All senses intertwined dancing on the rays of the sun, shyly creeping through the curtains. I turn to you, hide my face in the bone that holds the curve of your shoulder and the softness of your neck together. And I breathe you all in…

“Cofee?

  • mhm…”

Little snapshots of moments dangle with perfection: coffee boiling, you in a white shirt, standing on your toes, spoon in your mouth talking about nothing at all… If I could choose to be stuck in a single loop for all of eternity, it would be this one… you laughing in the kitchen on a Sunday morning.