An Ideal Sunday

Waking up at 7 am next to you.

Bodies moulded together, inseparable clay.

Sharing the mirror.

Competitions to see who can get who to laugh first.

 Watching cartoons all morning.

 Eating our faviroute cereals.

A silence so comfortable it feels naked. So comfortable that there is never a need to acknowledge the other. Getting lost in our own worlds while still being connected to one another. Comfortable with the absurdity of the world but content because our hearts always feel at home.

Undressing you.

Showering with you.

Making lunch with you.

An afternoon nap cuddled with you.

Lounging around, quiet whispers, pillow talk. Fingers intertwined words melting to form paragraphs describing the love that motivates the desire and passion behind our eyes. Savouring every breath you take, mentally recording every sound you make. Soft caresses and warm kisses tracing the lines of our conversation.

Getting ready with you.

 Out for dinner.

 Smiling like a love sick fool.

Spending the moments with you that deserve a special place in the recollections of my life. Looking up at the sky and knowing the possibilities are endless. Feeling your pulse rhythmically beat in sync with mine as you hold me. Knowing that every moment you look into my eyes your being is tethered to my soul.

Walking home hand in hand.

Conversing loudly like children.

Chatter filling the quiet night.

Arriving home, impatiently, undressing with a meticulous insanity that is pained by our lust. Heightening the beauty of the moment. No words are spoken, out bodies sing everything we never could verbalize. Wrapped inside your arms. In a trance by your seductive charm. Enchanted by the way you sigh, gasp, the world falls behind us and it remains just the two of us on an ideal Sunday.



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