Warm Love

I fall back lazily on the bed
positioned perpendicular to how things should go
so as to better soak up the sun through bay windows streaked subtly with fingerling tracings from the night before.
 
Just there, imprints from the moment you pressed into me from behind  
only glass separating me from star-strewn sky.
And there, tell-tale trails of your eventual taking of it all—this body and the night sky, too.
 
‘Warm love’, sent after leaving the next day
words mustering the precise temperature of ‘just right’—the heat of the night cooled to simmering bodies wrapped in casual intimacy ‘round every little and big thing that is us.
 
Through handprinted love, the sun and you become one.
(Oh, how the sun becomes you, Love.)
And I settle into the (after)glow.
Rays embracing all that is me and all
that is ‘we’ until nothing else remains.
Just radiant, warm love.  
It is more than enough.  
 
R.