Misty eyes gazing through the half light just after sunset. Contented. Broad shoulders catch the last rays of the sun reflecting silver off the clouds through a hazy window. His hand reaches up and knuckles brush my cheek. Sigh the silence. Our legs intertwined, passion spent. Only a man would understand, how its like remembering, the way the madness of sex washes away and your mind returns. And it's always a surprise. Like a tide, a new passion washes in to replace lust and fevered love. Deeper appreciation, patient, comfortable love that has no roving eye for another. I wait through each stage of interaction like movements in a symphony, knowing that this piece flows to the beat of his heart, and ends with me wrapped in his thick corded arms dropping into a sleep laced with his scent, his breath, and his heat. Later jerking awake suddenly, fearful, from some dream or another. A hand reaches out and drapes across my chest and he mumbles something reas- suring. Incoherent, but reassuring. Fierce love erupts in my heart and flows through my veins and these I love your misty eyes.
