He’s warm, alive, and I breathe him in.
My head rests against his chest, ear pressed close to his heart,
I listen to his heartbeat and tap the tempo on his arm because he asked me to,
notating the beat skips each time while his fingers tangle in my hair.

Skin to skin, sticky with sweat and months of longing to be this close,
despite the frost on my bedroom window.
Ceiling fan whirring, spinning, humming, as the background noise
while I study of every inch of his body and inscribe it into my memory,
Thoughts of him seared into my mind, feelings of his skin still stuck to my fingertips,
I ache and stir.

A part of him clings to the linen and I sleep on his side of the bed tonight.