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.