A woman in a dress is a beautiful thing. Something Summer-y showing just enough leg. What needs to be understood is that so much happens to us — men — as a result of you showing only just a little. It shakes us quietly. It drives us mad.

And here I lie. My lids heavy and seeking closure and all I can think about is what you told me. How you’d wear that white Summer dress with nothing underneath, letting my hands be the wind to lift it up. How you’d ask me to do so from behind, your head peeking back at me saying “… babyy”. I cradle that thought. I cradle your love. I cradle your words.

As the A.M. stands for letters calling to sleep, I look back at my clock and then roll around. Right back to you. Because you’re always here. In one beautiful form or another.