Studying the rhythm of your breath, I watch as the sheets rise and fall from your tattooed chest. The peculiar way you sleep, entangling your body with mine as a rope’s yarn are intertwined, comforts and protects with a delicate security. What’s on your mind? What of your dreams? These questions yet have no answers, and with that I am serene, for our ebb and flow is slower than most. Concrete, though, takes time to solidify so, for now, I continue to observe you in your most vulnerable state, awaiting but not rushing the hour of your wake.