he slips ever-so
softly
into the pale
blue-grey shadows
of the sheepish, dawning
spring morn’s light
face first, peeking
from behind the white, paint-chipped
wooden door ajar
just in case – so
not to wake me;
he glimpses my snoozy
snoring body – prone
my naked thigh & nalgas
snuggled limply ‘round the length
of a crisp & creamy white
king-sized comforter
kneaded flawlessly
to the form, to the girth
of a full-grown
pillow man