Scene

"It's a prose poem", she said.
"I don't know B. I'm a simple guy. Something's poetry, or it's prose. I don't like the in betweens".
'Sure you do.", she said, smiling. "You're in between me all the time", she said, playing with his fingers.
He laughed. "Yes, but that's a different kind of in between entirely", he said, drawing her closer.
She smiled, and their kiss tasted of the cherries they had had for breakfast that morning.
"Have I told you today that I love you?"
She shook her head.
"Well I do."
She laughed. "Thanks." she said, "I know."
He laughed. "Whatever happened to I love you to?"
"It gets boring."
He smiled. "You're so silly" he said.
She scoffed. "Silly is a word you use to describe puppies."
He groaned. The entire morning would be about appeasing her now. At least it meant they would spend the morning in bed.
"Your lips tasted of cherries" she said.
He looked at her.
"Just now", she explained, "did my lips taste of cherry too?"
He grinned. "Well that depends - do you like cherry?"
"I want an honest answer". She elbowed him, but he could tell she was growing softer. "I am melting her like a marshmallow before the flame" he thought, "and our relationship is one gigantic bonfire."
His kiss was slower this time, "more like cherry cordial because it leaves an after-taste", she thought, "God I hope I don't get hungover."

The morning was measured in suspended breaths and sunlight melding in and out of shadows that played on white sheets - and the rustling of thighs.

"Anytime you write about love it should involve the rustling of thighs", she said.
"Yes, you do like thighs", he teased.
"Why not?" she smiled. "Thighs are a perfectly respectable part of the body."
He laughed. "Maybe", he said, "but I also like lips and neck, and breasts...." and his hands were winding their way through her body.
"You're such a pervert", she teased.
"I'm a pervert! You're the one who writes porn for a living."
"But at least I'm good at it", she said.
He laughed. 'There's no denying that.", he said.
She smiled. "I see you're working on giving me new material", she teased.
He did not answer; his lips were pressed against her collarbone.

The night was meaured in the shifting of shadows and moonlight, the crumpling of sheets and the rustling of thighs.