At some point in the night, a small sigh punctuates the darkness as her perfect hands knead and fetter upon my spine. I shift feeling her warmth, a jig-saw perfect fit as she completes me. Turning towards her, nimble fingers grab and need against me until she finds her bounty and settles into the slow rhythmic suckle of a midnight snack. Her perfection is like pure sunshine glittering on to the night. I love her. I tell her so. I tell her again in tender whispers. She murmurs back. She loves me too.
I still love her two hours later, and two hours after that. I just don't like her as much those times.
I lay adrift in the night with only the digital display of the alarm clock for light as it mocks the passing of my life minute by minute. I Fade into the lullaby of her breaths and wait for sleep or morning, which ever claims me first.
I should miss The Husband in my bed but I think I'd miss The Baby more. He shall share my bed until we're creaking and old, until we sleep and do not wake. & She shall share my bed until she sleeps through the night finally or drives me utterly insane, whichever comes first.