Dear Diary,Stiff, hard, unmalleable,
the steady pace
of your breathing
is the soundtrack
to the moment.
I turn and face you.
Perfect crescent moons
close to where
your eyes should be.
The shifting below the skin
indicates another world
being lived.
Your hand lies open,
slowly,
carefully,
I twine my fingers
around your thumb.
I mould my body
around yours,
but with distance,
to prevent dream actions
from preventing themselves,
a slap in the face,
an elbow to the eye.
I slowly drift away,
but try to stay conscious
to savour the moment.
A body pressed against mine,
the arm across my waist,
and the hand holding the paw
of the bear you hold
as you lean into me.
We were connected.
All of us.
A comfortable tangle
of duvets, pillows and bodies,
the calming rumble
of our breathing
the last thing heard
as I sank into the soft, dark realm.
