In the darkest of the wee hours
Quiet save for the white noise of forced heat
and the hum of silence
I half-wake into that twilight place and find that I am
huddled snugly beneath the down
My left leg tucked like a puzzle piece between your legs.
They are cool.
I strain through the silence
seeking out the faint, faint, faintest ‘wh’
The beacon that signals
You are here with me in the dark
I have not been left cold.