fidelius

those moments, in that time
are filled with dust filtered light
and the smell of lavender. And...and-
and you. The sound of a rolling chair on wood
the sound of our breathing. The sound of fingers on a keyboard and pages turning.
those moments... our moments.
Our movements.
My feet buried beneath your pillow, your hand on my back.
your chest, just the perfect height, under my cheek.
these moments, in this time. at home, with him.
all bright light and cozy touching in the early morning.
these moments, our moments. His and mine.
they are simple. nothing more then a starter garden and laughter.
but you can live on that love and that garden.
the sound of a rolling chair is nothing to live on. impossible to live on.
my feet aren't below the pillow now.
they rest, beside his. rest beside his. rest... love... sleep... at home.
he is home. him and the garden and the laughter.
and home is where my heart is.