I put on my pyjama pants, only my brain doesn’t call them that, it calls them yours. It’s a funny little moment, just one in a dozen daily instances that remind me how quickly we’ve commingled our minds. I no longer possess any decent nouns, nor impropriety, only tactile verbs. Smell, touch, taste, sleep, kiss, fuck, eat, cry, laugh, burrow, embed. I lay myself down and think of us. Of our bed. Of us in it. Of its vastness when empty. Of its occupied warmth. Hug, talk, sing, sigh, whimper, pant, proclaim. Love. I fall asleep in your arms.

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