Hot breath on collarbones and
cotton sheets between my toes
is all I really need to know
when questioning contentment.
See, there’s no feeling quite like
fingers lingering lax in hair or
misplacing last night’s underwear
when waking braced with bliss.
Your hands, they never told me no,
and I, how I, forgot to go
when your room leaked with shadows
and we surrendered gladness.
Morning never tasted sweet
before I met it from your sheets
while listening to your soft heartbeat —
in the arms of satisfaction.
© 2016 Stellular Scribe