The light falls long across your bedroom in winter. A golden glaze. An unseasonably warm January breeze billows your curtain in the open window. 4:30pm falls through it like massive candlelight, turning everything a deep honey yellow at a steep angle. Nothing to do but lie down and watch it. A little languor before the early dark.

You cross your right leg over your left and I watch the hollow below your right inner ankle. That’s where I can see your pulse. Thump. Thump. Thump under the thin skin right next to that little freckle on the ankle-bone.

It makes me love you with a visceral intensity. 

I love the heart that beats so many times every minute for as long as you’re with me. 

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