| Three A.M. When you wake up next to him, his face bathed in silvery moonlight, you shift silently as muscle protests, having already followed you into sleep without having woken with you. You move away from slender muscles, because you had wrapped yourself around him like a second layer of sheets, and peer down. Lips slightly parted let out a soft sigh and he twitches in his sleep, for a second you imagine that it is because he knows. He knows you are watching, like a silent guard, an over protective mother counting breaths and scaring evil away. You brush hair that is silver and gold, but neither of those colors, away from eyes that you know, when open, are deep and dark stones of brilliant color. You will watch him, wandering and wondering at the dreams that dance behind shiny eyelids, pretending it is you that plays in the cinema. You are not jealous of the moonlight coming through the windows to cover him, to trace the planes of his face. You were the one who invited it in. When you slip from between the covers you will ignore the sad twang in your chest when he doesn�t reach for you, doesn�t roll over into the spot you were and take in the scent as a substitute for your warmth. When you dress in the darkness pulling on the layers of yourself that he had stripped away earlier you will still be watching him out of the corner of your eye. You will smile, something deep inside sated, when he nuzzles your hand as you brush a finger over his cheek in a silent good bye. |