Quoting Taurion:

   I’m not sure what woke me up, but it was gentle.  It wasn’t the slow jams on the radio.  It wasn’t the squeals of children playing in the street (I’m surprised they came back so quickly).  I just know that I eased back into consciousness, careful not to wake her up.  She’s pressed next to me, more into me, as she always whenever we shared the bed.  Marveling at what she called ‘the near-solar BTUs’ my body threw off, she joked that she’d never dump me in the winter.  It was late fall, so we have a few good months together guaranteed.

   It was the maw of the day, and the sun cast long shadows into my bedroom.  A shaft of light crawled cross my forearm, which was cradled over her.  I watched this intently, at first staring at the dancing rainbows revealed across my brown skin.  I could easily see them, but only in natural sunlight.  Maybe it was the angle, but I couldn’t see them in her milky skin.  I’m sure they’re there, that my melanin abundance just makes it easier to see in me than in her, just like dry, ashy skin.  It didn’t matter, because there were definitely rainbows dancing in her hair.

   Yes, Lord.  That’s where they were the first time I saw her.

   Natural sunlight does wonders for bringing out our complementary tones: Nubian umber against Teutonic velvet.  At its darkest, her skin was the color of strawberry milk, dotted with freckles that embarrassed her.  Me? I’m fascinated by them, and I’d elicit a giggle when I told her I was the color of one, ginormous freckle.

   She was always certain that I loved her madly, but never about her own innate beauty, which I always found odd.  Any man that was a man would be proud – honored, even – to have her on his arm.  And she’s gotten better about it, trust me.  When I asked her out, she became the world’s largest squirrel.  That was probably the only time I saw her turn into a shy little girl, even though I knew her when she really was a shy little girl.  Doubts spawned by the cruelty of others never left her, and sometimes I think never will.  I am not a small person, and neither is she, and you know what?  It’s ok.  Actually, it’s more than ok.  It’s pretty damn good.  She’s a woman, in every sense of the word.  The joke was that she could sashay passed Stevie Wonder and he’d turn, lifting his shades and say ‘Daym!!’  Of course, then he’d write a song about her, but you get the point.

   Stay with me, people.

   There’s a movie playing later.  A late show.  And, well, we had some time to kill.  We could do dinner afterwards at our favorite 24-hour haunt, so what to do...what to do...what to do...

   She’d expressed some interest in expanding her experience of certain practices which she knew I was, uh, very adept at, particularly the Venus Butterfly technique.  Upon first hearing about it, she thought it was yet another martial arts move I was learning.  Uh no, honey, I’d say with a slight smirk, it ain’t that kind of killer move.  In her worst Laurence Fishburne as Morpheous impersonation, she leaned in and said ‘show me’.

   So I did.  Several times.   Just to let her know it wasn’t a fluke.

   Loud wailing for several minutes scared away the neighborhood kids, and brought a familiar rolling of the eyes to many of their parents.  “Jesus H. Christ, they’re at it again!!!!” some men were heard to say.  Oddly enough, their wives and girlfriends were not nearly as damning.

   God, I love the suburbs.

   Anyway, she showed no shame in rolling over and going to sleep first, satisfied with her, uh, education.  After gently kissing the back of her neck, I found that the sandman wasn’t far behind me, which brings us to the current moment of my waking up.  It took only a moment for all my senses to get reoriented, but when they had, I figured it out.  Now I know what woke me up. She began snoring again, and you know what...?

   It was ok.

   I’m not sure what woke me up, but it was gentle.  It wasn’t the slow jams on the radio.  It wasn’t the squeals of children playing in the street (I’m surprised they came back so quickly).  I just know that I eased back into consciousness, careful not to wake her up.  She’s pressed next to me, more into me, as she always whenever we shared the bed.  Marveling at what she called ‘the near-solar BTUs’ my body threw off, she joked that she’d never dump me in the winter.  It was late fall, so we have a few good months together guaranteed.

   It was the maw of the day, and the sun cast long shadows into my bedroom.  A shaft of light crawled cross my forearm, which was cradled over her.  I watched this intently, at first staring at the dancing rainbows revealed across my brown skin.  I could easily see them, but only in natural sunlight.  Maybe it was the angle, but I couldn’t see them in her milky skin.  I’m sure they’re there, that my melanin abundance just makes it easier to see in me than in her, just like dry, ashy skin.  It didn’t matter, because there were definitely rainbows dancing in her hair.

   Yes, Lord.  That’s where they were the first time I saw her.

   Natural sunlight does wonders for bringing out our complementary tones: Nubian umber against Teutonic velvet.  At its darkest, her skin was the color of strawberry milk, dotted with freckles that embarrassed her.  Me? I’m fascinated by them, and I’d elicit a giggle when I told her I was the color of one, ginormous freckle.

   She was always certain that I loved her madly, but never about her own innate beauty, which I always found odd.  Any man that was a man would be proud – honored, even – to have her on his arm.  And she’s gotten better about it, trust me.  When I asked her out, she became the world’s largest squirrel.  That was probably the only time I saw her turn into a shy little girl, even though I knew her when she really was a shy little girl.  Doubts spawned by the cruelty of others never left her, and sometimes I think never will.  I am not a small person, and neither is she, and you know what?  It’s ok.  Actually, it’s more than ok.  It’s pretty damn good.  She’s a woman, in every sense of the word.  The joke was that she could sashay passed Stevie Wonder and he’d turn, lifting his shades and say ‘Daym!!’  Of course, then he’d write a song about her, but you get the point.

   Stay with me, people.

   There’s a movie playing later.  A late show.  And, well, we had some time to kill.  We could do dinner afterwards at our favorite 24-hour haunt, so what to do...what to do...what to do...

   She’d expressed some interest in expanding her experience of certain practices which she knew I was, uh, very adept at, particularly the Venus Butterfly technique.  Upon first hearing about it, she thought it was yet another martial arts move I was learning.  Uh no, honey, I’d say with a slight smirk, it ain’t that kind of killer move.  In her worst Laurence Fishburne as Morpheous impersonation, she leaned in and said ‘show me’.

   So I did.  Several times.   Just to let her know it wasn’t a fluke.

   Loud wailing for several minutes scared away the neighborhood kids, and brought a familiar rolling of the eyes to many of their parents.  “Jesus H. Christ, they’re at it again!!!!” some men were heard to say.  Oddly enough, their wives and girlfriends were not nearly as damning.

   God, I love the suburbs.

   Anyway, she showed no shame in rolling over and going to sleep first, satisfied with her, uh, education.  After gently kissing the back of her neck, I found that the sandman wasn’t far behind me, which brings us to the current moment of my waking up.  It took only a moment for all my senses to get reoriented, but when they had, I figured it out.  Now I know what woke me up. She began snoring again, and you know what...?

   It was ok.