She’s still in bed when I finish writing. I take off my clothes before joining her. Sliding under the covers she makes room. Lying where she just was I ask for her hand. Our fingers intertwine.
Lovers in swan shaped boats paddle along the canal. The late afternoon sun shimmers on the surface. Hordes of people wander the banks in various states of undress. They walk dogs and hold hands and hurriedly eat ice cream before it drips down the cone. Simple pleasures cure the lives we lead.
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