one day you will put on comfortable clothes that smell like fabric softener and meander over to a sunlit bed carrying a mug of tea warmer than your t-shirt after its spin in the dryer, and you will lay down next to someone who finds amusement in the slight squint of your eyes against the bright rays that flood through the open window with air that tastes like winter, someone who will wait until you have placed that mug, empty, on the bedside table before kissing you roughly and fucking you softly and then the other way around until the sun gives way to the moon which gives way to cloudy inevitability, and you breathe loudly and simultaneously with the person you love, watching the snow fall outside the window, your dryer-spun clothes crumpled on the hardwood floors.