Pour

My eyes wander down the curve of your spine.
You lay next to me, nestled into the crook of my elbow, belly down, just the way I always adored, I adore everything you do.
I watch the way you breathe shallow and even, keeping an exact rhythm with your heart, sighing every few seconds like you're exasperated because I forgot to take out the trash again.
I want so bad to let my fingertips linger on the dip of your neck where my eyes have flirted to for the past half hour but you never sleep. Insomnia is a bitch.
So waking you up would mean hurting you and damn if I could ever do that.
Instead I close my eyes and imagine drawing my hand up the back of your thigh, watching you inhale sharply while I nuzzle the back of your head. Hello, notice me. I'm here. I'm home. I am just a hound looking to find a refuge and with your leg thrown over my hip I can say I've never known heaven before. But, fuck, baby this is heaven.
I'd like to taste your lips but instead I'll just lie still and watch the rain on the window, feel your thigh on my waist, hear the sound of your breath, smell the soap you bought from the store, and taste desire like a heavy summer storm. It's just about to pour.