???
The next time I wake, it’s almost dawn.
That hazy blue hour where the sky begins to soften to ash.
Marco is facing me, eyes closed, but awake enough to reach for me.
“I wanted to let you sleep,” he says, offering a gentle morning kiss.
Two somnolent souls reconnect.
A chorus of birdsong stirs around us.
I open my mouth to ask, but someone reads my mind.
“Grey shrike thrush,” he whispers. “Pied butcherbird.”
“What about the one with the high pitched whistle?”
“Sounds like a peewee,” he says.
He sits up, pausing to concentrate.
“Who else can I hear? A honeyeater, I think.”
A small cloud of winged creatures return to their tree across the water.
“What kind of birds are they?”
“Those are bats,” he grins. “They’ve been out on a bender.”
I smile bashfully.
“And who's this cutie outside our tent? The one with the wild mohawk?”
“A crested bellbird,” he smiles. “That's how your hair looks most mornings.”
It’s true, I can’t deny it.
“Before or after I have my way with you?”
“I forget,” he smirks. “Refresh my memory.”
With a birthday fuck?
Say no more…
I straddle him, raising his arms above his head.
He submits.
I’m gonna flood this man’s body with as much serotonin as possible.
I really want to make him feel good before he deals with heavy shadows.
???
“I need to tell you something about this river,” he mentions coyly.
