There is a time, a space, a fissure, between darkness and light, sleep and waking, dreams and consciousness, where he comes to me.
He steps out of my sleepy imaginings, his phantom form made material, filling the place beside me. The bed sinks under his weight, the pillow rustles with the drop of his head. His heat overwhelms the white expanse on which I rest.
Just as I stir threatening to wake, he moves in to me. His body greets my soft nakedness, his hands play with my curls, his lips brush along the curve of my back.
Filled with the pleasure of his simple touch, I then move in to him. Enveloped in his arms, his heartbeat and breath mingling with my own, I relish the sensation of his silky wrapped hardness against my skin.
But as the light beams through and my eyes begin to register the day, the spell is broken and I am alone once more. While he fades into the glow, I lie in bed hoping he will appear to me again with the breaking of another dawn.