First

He woke to the sound of breath. The sheets draped over him like good thoughts and warm embraces. His eyes took in the feel of the room. They sipped on the honeysuckle light that tentatively dripped in through the large window. Across from him were posters of old movies. Films that changed the world in their own very unique way. Eraserhead. Harold and Maude. La Dolce Vita. A wild chaotic scrapbook of genius that could have overwhelmed almost anything. Except for the soft breathing nearby. The sound of those breaths reverberated throughout his entire being. He rolled over in bed and looked toward the light.

She stood with a blanket wrapped loosely over her slight frame. Strands of hair flowed up and over the ridge of cloth and goose feathers. She bathed in the morning as he slowly got out of bed and walked over to her. She didn't need to turn around. He didn't need to wrap his arms around her. She didn't need to hear him say that he loved her. But they did it anyway. She looked up at him with Egyptian eyes and when she kissed him, the honeysuckle light rejoiced with envy. Then, they both turned to the window and watched as the sun created reflections of people on the windows of the building across the street.

She smelled of green apple and first love. She tasted of peaches and wildfire.

She opened up the blanket and brought him inside. His hands brushed over her contours like prayer. He took hold of the blanket as she curled herself into him. Whispering through his chest, into his core. They didn't want love; They wanted each other. They hadn't lost their virginity; They had found something sacred. Again, she looked up at him with Egyptian eyes.

"We're in trouble, aren't we?" She asked.

"...Yeah." He replied.