It’s late on a lazy Sunday morning. You pull yourself from bed and walk across the ash colored hardwood of your studio apartment to the kitchen and put on the coffee.
You look down at the angelic face of your lover as you tip toe passed to freshen up. Your cheeks warms as you think of last night. You let them sleep. They need their rest.
Back in the kitchen, you have busied yourself with preparing something to satisfy your hunger when you feel hands slip around your waist and a kiss on the nape of your neck.
You turn in their embrace and they press your hips to the counter behind you. They’re appetite is renewed, but for something other than what’s sizzling on the stove.
What’s for brunch?