We had a terrible argument. About what, I can't remember now. But it caused me to call it an early night without kissing you good night. I readied for bed, fuming at your inability to understand my every little move.
It was a warm night, and I slipped, naked, in between the cool satin sheets. A light breeze came in through the open window, the ceiling fan carrying the coolness and scent of roses to every corner of the room. It was a perfect night to make slow, sweet, passionate love to you, but I was too pouty to notice or appreciate it.
After what felt like hours, I finally drifted off into a fitful sleep, not used to you being absent from the bed. Pressed against me, you always comforted me to sleep.
As I drifted off, images began filling my head. It started with your beautiful, smiling face. I love to watch the light dance in your eyes, and hear the richness of your laughter. Feeling myself smile, I watched as the dream began to unfold even more.
We were in a park. Or what looked like a park, but with a noticeable lack of people. The grass was greener than I had ever seen in reality, reflecting the sunlight with each blade. The trees, though few, cast more than enough shade to make it comfortably cool for a picnic.
That's what you brought me here for. A wonderful picnic. I smiled as I watched you lay down the blanket, rolling my eyes at some cheesy joke you had made. You wouldn't let me help you, insisting that the day was to be spent pampering me.
Allowing myself to be led to the blanket, I watched you walk the short distance to the car to retrieve the picnic hamper and a bottle of wine. I smiled as I rested my chin on my bent knee, thinking how I could never get tired of watching you move. You have the fluid grace that could make the best dancer envious.
Yet it's not with a dancer's grace that you move. It is more like the easy gait of a feral cat. The way your hips sway is like the lazy stroll of a lion. Seemingly unaware, but always on guard.
You return to the blanket and begin unpacking the hamper. French bread, cheese, fruit, even some of my favorite chocolate, appeared before me. Glasses came next. Smiling at me, you pour each of us a glass of wine. It is the sweetest I had ever tasted, and loved it from the first sip.
Saying very little, we slowly feed each other. I giggle with delight each time your lips capture my fingers and your tongue tickles them.
