I have this recurring fantasy of the perfect Sunday morning. We wake up beside each other, smiling, having sex. You love my wrists and my ankles and my spine, your hands are everywhere, all over. I get up, throw on your shirt and make us eggs and coffee. We eat in bed, reading the newspaper, laughing at stupid articles, kissing, enjoying each other. Maybe we’ll take a shower together later, or go for a walk. I’d be perfectly happy with anything really, even cleaning (and that means a lot coming from me). I imagine us doing the most ordinary things, but in the most extraordinary ways. Everything with laughter, and smiles, and kisses and love.