after

          The low hum of the ceiling fan is soothing, familiar. It's a constant.
It almost masks slow, drowsy, sleepy breaths.
A toe twitches, a foot arches. hands stretch lazily, languid in their just-woken-up.
A quick glance at still sleeping, breath hitches.
         Corners of the mouth move helplessly, dangerously high so high that brain is terrified of the fall but hands, they're too busy remembering to care.
 Sliding, skimming, gripping, caressing. Fingers ache to relive.
   Finally, after an age of lying too still, too careful not to spoil, to even slightly disturb, sheets crinkle when eyes jump open and everything shifts.
 It isn't the slow kind of awakening, no.
Love jumps into wakefulness and love's hands search.
They find. They hold.
 Love's eyes search for regret, they find half lidded sated, they relax.
Morning sounds in hoarse, scratchy sleep drenched voice. a beam replies.
 And then a giggle.
This is all so surreal.
 Feet tangle together, not ready to get up, up yet.
not yet.
A few more seconds.
stay.
And then fingers reacquaint themselves with the curl of an eyelash, the slope of the nose and curve of the cheeks, down the neck over the heart, tiptoe on the navel, brush the smallest bit of skin on the hip.
Shivers come rushing back, flooding each nerve ending till names are forgotten
and only love is remembered.
         Then,with a last see you  soon, said with touch of lips rather than words, walk out of the room, stopping only to flick a switch off.
The ceiling fan slows and stops.
nothing, nothing is the same any more.
Cold air scampers through the just opened door.
it's better.