fiction-tangerine dawns and ginger sunsets

Legs tangled in a mess of linen sheets

the night is hot and humid, settling on our lips

a kiss from the looming palm trees and waxy plants

outside is a symphony, the birds in the trees and the chickens in the coop

the white paint on the stairs peels away, leaving behind damp wood

for once, you're fast asleep, breath whistling lightly through the gap in your teeth.

short cropped hair brushing a freckled nose, red from work in the backyard, along with your shoulders and collarbone, traced by the moonlight peeking through gauzy curtains

I stop myself from brushing it behind your ear, instead smiling at how peaceful you look when you’re truly asleep.

there’s still some paint on your cheek, and you smelt faintly of gasoline

thanks love, you say, taking the lemonade from my hand, and wiping the sweat from your forehead, it’s starting to come together, isn’t it? I look at the shed, empty of its contents, groaning softly. yeah, I say, as I lean to pick up a can of paint. it sure is.

I press my nose against your forehead and you lean into my shoulder, skin sticky despite the desperate attempts of the swamp cooler. my eyes are tired, but my mind is not. I sigh softly, and you shift closer, even in subconcious, you fight to take care of me.

the sun has begun to peek over the horizon, and the floorboards grow warm in its light. I close my eyes for you, so that as you fix the rotting floorboards for my pottery studio, I can make you asparagus and scrambled eggs on toast as the waves crash against the coast in the distance and you sing along to the songs on the radio that i can’t stand (most of the time)

but for now, I lay with you, and wait for some form of sleep as the sun rises ever so slowly.