Swans

Heads dip together, eyes meet, silence. Not that we have nothing to say, but we have to say nothing. Fingertips over cool skin in the dark, senses paralyzed by absolute darkness and the only sound the passing of cars outside (some drive too fast). I feel his breath, hot and jagged and made of comfort, on my lips; his scent that's strongest when he inhales and lingers in the scruff of hair at his jawline and in the pit of his collarbone. Like swans we make shapes from our bodies together, naked, graceful, knees touching foreheads touching arms overlapped and noses tips-together.

Handsomely disheveled -- eyes closed and twitching under his lids, not entirely sure whether he's awake or asleep. I'm not entirely sure whether I'm awake or asleep (does it matter?) but I run a soft fingertip over his throat Adam's apple the dip between his clavicles and warm chest to feel his heart tap-tap-thumping behind his ribcage. The corners of his mouth turn up just a little. Somewhere in the back of my mind I am counting the minutes and hours until this becomes nothing more than a memory.