Phoenix gets cold, I am driving to his house with the heat on at 6:30 in the morning. I am wearing his thick fleece shirt, and looking forward to crawling into bed next to him.

I knock on his window and see the blinds move, he shuffles out of bed in a long flannel shirt and opens the back door for me. I hurry into his bedroom and out of my clothes to bask in the warmth that his body has left behind in the bed. He crawls in after me and arranges the covers around us, tidying our nest. We tangle our limbs around each other and smell each other's hair. He nudges around as he descends back into a slumber, and I drowsily, happily, reflect on this man beside me. He reaches for me and holds me close, his right sideburn brushing against my forehead. In a cozy and poetic wash of love, these things are threads of perfect, woven into a man.

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