Photo by Mo on

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.