03.10.19

By Kat Thomson

Painting by Gustav Klimt

sleepy murmurs and your

soft touch beneath the sheets

your voice rough and hushed

Annoyed grovels into the pillow.

Your hand reaches for mine-

Teasing me into climbing

Beneath the covers once more.

We lay a while,

Birds slowly beginning to

Flutter and sing outside

Your window. The sounds of

The city awakening float

into the small room, illuminated

Only by a glint through

The curtains.

Intertwined. Fingers, legs, hearts.

In this moment, not a word need be said. the sound of your heart against mine

is enough. Home.