Every night, she curled herself into the arch of his back; nestled into his thoracic and minding the spurs.
Whilst he slept, she allowed her edges to relax, tangling within the whispers escaping from his dreams.
She wondered where he went at night, his back arched and body bare. His creative hands would clench sometimes and she couldn’t help herself enough to stop; she’d gently paw at his knuckles, teasing them to open.
At sunrise, his eyes would contain the chimera leftovers and she could smell it; the eventide he’d passed through, the stubborn yesterdays that only dared to return at night.
In the morning light, curled on a window seat with a view of possibility, she blinks her eyes slowly at the over sleeping moon, still dangling in the sky, too heavy to slide away and full of the wishes of an ordinary man.