smoke stains

by WildChild

Looking up at the ceiling all I could do was laugh while one finger was placed across the hood of my eye.  I did not mind that my view was partially blocked, vision being almost my most cherished sense of all, because it was your hand on my head.  I did not want to get up, get out of bed on this lazy Sunday afternoon.  I do not stay in bed, I do not relax for hours, letting the time slip away.  With you I did.  Maybe it’s because I knew we didn’t have much time left.  Maybe, I felt comfortable.