Extempore
New Year's Day Night.
He sleeps on the floor while I watch my West Wing DVDs. His profile is beautiful, his own. One of a kind. I already know his face better than my own. He's not moving here soon enough, that much I know.
I'm awake because we were out dancing until 6 this morning, and after another hour of further physicalities, we slept, slept until 3pm, slept to sleep off a serotonin deficit.
He sleeps, as I said, but I can't. It's nearly midnight.
I love him. Have I said that enough? Can I ever say that enough?
I'm happy. Have I been that enough? Can I ever be that enough?