"bed"

I wake up slowly, enjoying the light slanting through my window. My back arches and curls, becoming limber with movement. I’m lost in the feel of sheets against skin. I let myself float in the large house’s silence, only broken by the birds greeting spring.
There’s a beautiful sensuality in the mornings. Feel is not right or wrong. It’s just feeling. I lay here, my hair splayed against the pillow. I run my fingers through it, the dark giving it a rusted hue. I should get up and check on the cat I’m here to watch. Instead, I let my thumb rub against my sternum, down my belly. He’s inside and indoors, I remind myself. No need to rush.
I stay in bed, trying to hold onto this moment. I make constellations with my freckles. I root myself in the body, in hair and skin and sensory softness. I need a space before society comes crashing in with all its messages of who I’m supposed to be. If I stay in this queen size bed with too many pillows, I have a few more moments with my own radical truth: this body is made to feel and enjoy.
Despite thick blinds, the sun gets brighter. I get up slowly, walking to the bathroom. My eyes travel down, enjoying the warm light against my pale skin. My breasts hang a bit, swaying with my motion. At the mirror, my fingers trace the creases along my thighs, the only evidence of my restless night.
Once I’m done, I turn back, facing the large bed again. I should get up, do an inspection of the house, bring in the newspaper. But the bed is the right balance of firm and soft. The thick covers are a siren call. I could nestle in, and read a book.
For a moment, I’m torn, until I realize my legs are already climbing back into bed. There’s time enough to look for the cat. For now, there are simple pleasures waiting for me between the sheets.