We lay upon the bed and cuddled against each other close, letting the smirk build to a chuckle for us and feeling the sense of relief in Joe surround us like a warm, light, calm fog. Sometimes when you speak your mind that heavily it can fill a room up and you can either let it inside you or you can let it float away.
We decided, without saying anything further, to let it sink deep into us both.
I counted the hairs in the small shell pattern on Joe's left arm. He touched with his large, warm fingertips the array of small birth marks and freckles on my face and nose. Our feet entwined and I brought my head down lower to rest inside the small area between his chest and arm, which fit my head perfectly. Joe sighed, mentally exhausted, but a smile filled his face as he exhaled. I could feel it in his body, and saw it with my eyes as I looked up at him to smile back.
The wind pressed upon the windows with a creaking loose sound that could be heard with the ears and felt in drafts of cold late autumn. Our tea sat in a small pan on the stove that we kept refilling our coffee mugs with. Smoke drifted up from a cigarette I held between my thumb and index finger, our gaze was transfixed on the ceiling above the table, where a pool of smoke had gathered in a circle and moved around like a small hurricane, drafts and drifts from the windows and door-frame keeping it in place.
Sometimes we sat like this quietly just thinking about nothing verbalized. We'd sip tea or coffee, or sometimes soda or juice. Sometimes we'd have some toast or donuts, sometimes I'd whip up some frenchtoast or eggs, although neither of us was a big breakfast eater. There were so many moments like this that often we felt they were just extensions of the last time we'd sat and silently pondered each moment we'd been sharing, each sexual sticky-sheeted adventure.