Bed Imperialist

I. “Or maybe I’m just speaking too highly of my scrawny ass...” he says, perching on the end of my bed in his undies. his ass really is scrawny but that doesn’t stop me from loving it II. sprawled out on the bed he curls into me pulling me closer and holding me tightly as he can he’s too warm and the blankets are too heavy and the only thought in my head as I try to sleep is that he’s the biggest teddy bear I’ve ever had and I can’t help but laugh snuggle deeper into the pillow to stifle III. “you’re so fussy!” I mumble after the sixth time he’s shifted our positions, knees and elbows and misplaced arms, stolen blankets and pillows, soft exhalations and tiny kisses like softest snow IV. once, I awoke as the birds outside began to sing, and couldn’t remember where I was. so I lay very very still and reached out with my senses. I found you inches away, chest rising and falling softly in deep sleep, face blank and peaceful. V. “I’m claiming the hinterlands” he says as he snow-angels my sheets. I stand beside the bed, brewing us some tea, and laughing. while it steeps I’ll climb into bed with him, knees on either side of his naked hips, hands on his shoulders, and make proclamations of war.