A cosy mattress.
Golden sunlight rimming the edge of the window sill.
I hold him in my arms.
I love to watch him sleep.
We didn’t roll into bed until three or four this morning.
To say that last night's conversation was intense would be an understatement.
But it has brought us closer in so many ways.
No more hiding. No more walls.
I drift back to sleep, a distant chorus of magpies as my lullaby.
No wonder Marco comes here whenever he needs solace.
His pocket of paradise.
His sanctuary away from the world.
Miles from the growling hum of traffic and constant demands.
Phones and clocks optional.
Nowhere to be but here.
Dawn rouses the watery cove with ripples of pink and peach.
But still, we sleep.
And when we wake with dozy smiles, I invite him to take a shower.
Marco comes willingly, in more ways than one.
“When we stay here in the summer, I’ll take you for a sunrise swim,” he says.
“On the condition that you leave your shorts behind.”
“Always trying to get my clothes off,” I smirk. “Why is that?”
One side of the bathroom has wide glass slats from floor to ceiling.
They open toward the lake.
The view is just as breathtaking by day.
Mountains rise in slow, ancient folds.
Silent, unflinching guardians.
Wafts of steam curl out the window.
Soapy skin beneath hands.
Tender kisses, unhurried.
