That Damn Sweater

That Damn Sweater

It was light out but not loud out yet.  It was early morning, but not quite morning yet.  You woke up, still mid-way through a dream, and rolled over.  I felt your shoulder blade press against the little bit of shoulder I could offer and then it hovered over me like a mama bear hovers over a baby bear.  Your arm followed, draping over my torso like a curtain, and your hand found my sleepy hand and gave it its own little embrace.  

You were bare chested, but I was wearing a sweater.  I wanted to feel your skin.  I wanted to feel you press into my skin so that my muscles felt your muscles.   I wanted the heart in your chest to stamp my heart with its rhythm.  

But alas, that damn sweater.  So instead, I felt your warmth spread, first over my sweater, and then through it.  The warmth gave me the energy to squeeze your hand with mine, making our hand holding go from a loose embrace to a passionate clasp.

I blinked once.  It wasn't morning yet. I blinked again. More slowly this time. Was it too late to take my sweater off? I blinked thrice.

Sweet Dreams

Sweet Dreams

Sam I Am

Sam I Am