Asleep at my Feet

Asleep at my feet, you're curled up in a little ball. You've fallen asleep on my stuffed alligator, Rumba, and are holding your head up a little with your arm propped against your chin. Romulus, my cat, is sitting up right in front of your face, his right side to you as he sits and idly takes in the details of the room.

The sun is sliding over the hardwood in my kitchen, creeping nearer to my foot propped up on the coffee table with each glance. It's reaching out to me, clutching at my toes ensconced in warm, wool socks, trying to draw me out into the chilly morning air. I leave my foot there, letting is move toward the bait leopardlike, sliding behind cracks and peeking out across small expanses to jump to the next point of cover. It's almost here, now, tickling at the dry, calloused botooms of my feet.

You're very beautiful when you sleep. Your lips pursed just so, slight but full, almost kissing your hand. I remember what it felt like to kiss them earlier, feel them slipping and pressing against mine, licking them softly, wetly, with my tongue, then kissing them fully, our tongues dancing lightly around each other, tips darting across and over each other, then our lips closing, me biting your bottom lip just a little, with the softest tug. Our eyes opened, and it was like we'd just finished having a conversation. Intimate but cordial. This was as far as you wanted to go, and you were telling me with those eyes.

We stayed up and talked, ran our fingers over each others bodies, occasionally wrapping together and just sliding our legs together, hugging close. Beautiful, temporary, tomorrow has no expectations for us, just this moment of closeness and indulgent kisses.

It's caught me now, pulling me out into the cold, and you're still holding my hand. We'll go out together, smiling at the uncaring sun and dancing to the wind singing in the trees.

-Sean