Sunday Morning (on a Thursday).
Wait. Lay in bed with me, don’t get up. Be my dream that never ends. Rest your bones against my skin, and remember the love we made last night. We can pull the sheets over our heads, and play your fingertips against my spine. Then feed each other dreams, sip hot tea, and taste the honey on each other’s lips, While I memorize the lines on your face, the smell of your soul, and the way your eyes change color in the light. I could just breathe you and be fine.
Editors Note: This is probably one of my shortest posts to date. I wanted to write a longer piece, but found that I couldn’t get past that last line. I thought it was because I felt uninspired. Then, I realized it was because that’s where it’s supposed to end.
Another editors note: After writing the above I burst out with a big “Shut the fuck up Abi,” and then laughed. I can be so corny sometimes, I swear.