I trace my fingers down your cheek
to your chest, and across your stomach.
I know every inch of you now.
Every scar, every mark, every freckle, and mole.
Time has made you so familiar to me.
The light is filtering through the crack in the curtains
gauze-like and yellow.
This is how I always want it to be;
talking of nothing of particular importance,
brushing my hands over your skin
waiting for that moment the green in your eyes changes to lust
and we are lost again in sheets and sunlight.