Cloudy forecasts

[byronicromance]

In bed, I can't stop touching him. My hands are hyperkinesthetic, from shoulder to wrist, skipping to fingertips then jumping to his hips. I lock my arms behind his waist and push myself into him so hard that we might fuse into one being. He gives me his profile and the light reflects off the falling snow outside. I cannot help myself. I smear the silver over his cheekbone, cup his jaw in my palm, and kiss him until our heat melts the ice off the roof.
Then, later, I lay on my stomach as he walks his fingers lazily up my spine. The silence pauses, then parts for his voice, whisper-singing to me. You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are grey. You'll never know, dear, how much I love you.

I close my eyes, feeling the sharp pain of knowledge. The soft defeat of ticking seconds.

So please don't take my sunshine away.
Please don't take my sunshine away.