Morning light touched your fingers,
Those fingers that rested on my shoulder
While you drifted among sleep-filled seas
And beautiful, enchanting dream.

I watched as the light drifted through the window. Just like a photograph, it was, but for your peaceful breath. It was that time of the morning where even consciousness is mixed with dreams, where the most innocent of thoughts spawns wild and fantastic iterations of ideas. There is something comforting about watching someone sleep. Feeling their fingers clench ever so slightly to some unknown, somniferous stimulus.
Some people don't like to sleep close to someone else. I'm not one of them. Those tangles of sleep, legs wrapped around one another, arms sliding under t-shirts and pyjama tops and out through shared sleeves make my spine tingle. Even skin seems too much of a barrier between you and I. I want to share my arms, fingers, my breath with you.
I watched the morning progress. The first people out on the streets soon appeared, walking under the window, breaking the tranquillity with inquiries after general health. I watched you stir as a slight breeze found its way through the window, making the hair on your forearms prickle. As the hustle and bustle grew, you became more restless, your lips and cheeks twitching and your brow creasing. Your fingers gripped at my t-shirt so gently, and you awoke. Your eyes opened, and that one instant, your pupils softly focusing, your fingertips on my chest: it was poetry. It was a whole lifetime condensed into one single, perfect moment.