It always starts with the tentative reach of fingers, two notches below chilly; one hand smoothing over my side as I’m enveloped by his core warmth.
Our heartbeats sync and the magnetic draw of our bodies seal us from shoulders to the curves of my body to finally the creep of his cold feet wrapped around mine.
This is our ritual.
In the sanctuary of our bed, we are singular. We are one.
I fight the thought of flight, to embrace him into my warmth and hope that it can be replicated in our dreams of tonight, tomorrow and beyond.