In the dark my hand reaches out and finds the contours of my lovers back. It is warm as the sand touched by the sun and shaped as the gentle dunes. It is comforting in its familiarity, each muscle and dimple rising and falling with her wave like breaths.
Sometimes it is an ice wall, cold and scary. I wonder what I have done to create such a boundary. I rest my hand in the hope that its slight warmth might crack the ice and send it crashing into the bed sea. My own small contribution to global warming changing the climate of the bedroom.
It is at times like this I think – we must change to the heavier duvet.
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