Being In Two Places At Once (But Really Only Actually One Place)

the small coffee table at my right elbow holds two books, a lamp, one coaster, and a coffee mug. the light is subdued yellow, though still bright enough to read by. a window behind me shows the morning, still dark. i am seated in a red reclining armchair, hair askew, adorned in a green bathrobe and faux leather slippers with tattered laces. but my mind is on none of these things. it is wrapped around the body of a sleeping woman who will soon be stretching and yawning hellos to the new day. it is preoccupied with the curvature of her side-laying profile, breasts and hip. it recognizes the lines of her face and the way her lips part when she breathes. it is adrift on the waves of fantasy: kissing warm white skin, stroking soft black hair, caressing tired back and shoulders. it leans my body in to the smell of her. i am seated here, alone, in a red reclining armchair. but i am not here. or alone. (and someday, this might happen.)

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