The morning after

After a night of lovemaking, I awake to the empty space next to me.

Where have you wandered off to, my love?

I sniff your pillow and like a desperate foxhound, follow the scent of shea butter and hibiscus to the veranda.

You commune with the plants a level below. You’re wearing my T-shirt. I call your name, and my voice carries in the wind as you curl a loc behind your ear just in time to hear it.

“Be right up.”

How I want to kiss that mouth, unbutton that shirt, consume you again.

You take my breath away.

Let me know I'm not talking to myself.

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