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Cold winter mornings, they remind me of the warmth of your naked skin against mine. Spooning against you, under the duvet, your breath tickling my senses.
Cold winter mornings, they remind me of the times I snuggled with you, resting my head on your pillow, taking comfort in your smell and feeling secure.
Cold winter mornings, they remind me of the rare times I climbed out of bed before you and then nestled back with you, rubbing my cold feet against your warm ones and giving you goosebumps.
Cold winter mornings, they remind me hot ginger tea that I made every morning for you and complained about how I preferred coffee more.
Cold winter mornings, they remind me of how you would sneak my socks inside the blankets so I can wear them warm for work.
Cold winter mornings, they remind me of how you loved to smell the rose scented cold cream I used. Of how you would hold me a little longer when you left for work.
Cold winter mornings, they remind of the steamy bathroom glass where you scribbled with your finger. They remind me of days you were insatiable and dragged me back into bed.
Cold winter mornings, they remind of holidays we took in log cabins. Of days and nights of unbridled passion. Of me refusing to get out of bed. Of you obliging and making me coffee in the electric kettle. Of long talks and short naps. Of hot piping food ordered and devoured while watching TV. Of the glint in your eyes as you had your way with me. Of the longing I felt each time I recognized your intentions.
Cold winter mornings, they remind of the Sundays that began only at noon. Of lazy planning and then staying put at home, shutting out the entire world. Of watching series back to back. Of the drink that burnt my insides into dizziness. Of how we danced slowly into the night. Of you patting me into sleep.
Cold winter mornings, they remind me of how cold your body felt, lifeless. Cold winter mornings, I wonder if you feel cold inside the bed storage. Cold winter mornings, I feel my heart frozen with your deceit.
