Your fire recedes to a nestling, sleepy-eyed and full. Your breath deepens to a slow drum upon the stretched-tight quiet of this moment. On this moon-lit mid-night, my hand follows a bright path lit by the glow of your arm, finds your hand and pulls you to the curve of my chest. My caring becomes your nest. You fall into sleep, becoming mine to keep in your dreams. I am your home, till you rouse needing more.
Night carries us on, becoming less in its age; teaching more.
My ears awaken first: cat claws tapping the bedroom floor. You stir, a quarter rise, closed eyes, then turn, in an unhurried unfolding, that sweeps me like a leaf, alighting on a new side. Your arm slides across my waist settling into place like a friend home from a long adventure. The warm drape of familiarity, wraps me safe inside the weave of your nest. It seems, in my dreams, I am yours.
Such turns of yours and mine, of saving and being saved, of knowing and unknowing, are the ways I know of love.