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I come home to see a faint orange glow in the left-most window on the second floor. He's still awake. I am tiptoe-ing anyway, and then opening the door with a bang in the hopes he'll come out. The lights are on in the kitchen; the fan is running. There are messages on the machine. I move toward his room and hope to run across him, to walk straight into him and he is beaming, coming out moving through the wooden frame to join me.

Silence.

I sneak through the doorway to the sight of only feet, then long legs in dark pajamas, running clockwise to my vision. Perfect stillness. He is draped out across his bed, his arms tucked softly under his head and a book by his side, his alarm not set, his clothes in a mess all over. He was waiting up. I guess. It's clear he didn't make it, but this is a present almost as sweet as his smile.

I want to tuck him in but he is lying on the covers. He gets a kiss on the cheek before I turn off his light, close the door and go to work. He rustles gently and looks like he might wake, but just turns, snuggles closer to his pillow and burrows down, nestles soft, and looks like he feels safe.

I'm glad that I could give this to you, glad that you are here.

I wave at him with a kiss on my fingertips and then whisper out goodnight, sad that this is his last night. I am going to miss him. But for now I am just looking forward to the morning, suspicious he will make me coffee, and eager to tell him stories about today.

I tend to be the last one to drift into the restful repose when we curl around each other. I might be engrossed in a book as you slip in beside me, tired from working or loving, your skin warm and familiar as my own, a subtle tan against the alabaster of my English heritage. Your dark lashes curl against your cheek, veiling the laughing emerald green eyes that hold me entranced. You caress your cheek along my skin finding a hollow to rest in and bring your body against me. Finally an arm with its gentle hand snakes across me to hold me while you sleep. I watch the care of the day slip away as sleep takes hold. Your dark curls resting against my shoulder, so tempting to run my fingers through but to do so would spoil the peaceful smile that curls across your strikingly pink lips. Your breathing deepens and your legs curl around mine in an attempt to get closer. Your scent of muskiness and vanilla is a gentle tease as your hold tightens in a dream. The warm line of your body against mine is comforting, from the scratchiness of your chest, the silkiness of the boxers to the roughness of your feet. The joy of watching you sleep, the man I love, is one to cherish and hold, it is a closeness that is too precious not to share.

You are always still slumbering when I rise from the arms of rest. An arm curled under the pillow you hug and your face serene. Your long hair bound in a golden plait snaked around your neck so as I do not lie on it in the night. Your cheeks are flushed, the pink a strong contrast to the whiteness of your skin. Your long eyelashes fluttering in a dream, like dark lace on white cloth. You snuggle closer if I move away, drawn to the warmth. I grip you closer and my name is murmured and your small feet entwine about my calves. Your body melding with mine, even though I am on my side and you on your stomach, your gorgeous curves a comfortable fit. I lightly run my hand from your lovely shoulder following the contours of your body, the softness, like velvet so different to my fuzziness. You wriggle a little, the touch is not enough to wake you but enough that you know I am there. You sigh and again murmur my name, it is unfair to tease you at your most vulnerable but usually it is rewarding when you wake and hold me in your arms, your blue green eyes sparkling with lascivious wit. I gently kiss the curve of your cheek, taking in the graceful curve of your button nose that you are so proud of. I smooth down the wispy strands of hair escaped from your braid, breath in your familiar sweet, homey scent and revel in the joy of watching you sleep, the woman I love.

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