Morning Details

Dimple on the right.  I kiss it.

Chin indentation.  I trace it.  A brief horizontal line above a chin that I softly grasp between my thumb and forefinger, grizzly with stubble.  I have a chin indentation, too, but it's more like a dimple, almost a cleft.  My brothers used to call it a butt chin.

A pronounced cupid's bow on his upper lip.  The only way you can explain a cupid's bow to people who don't know what a cupid's bow is is by mentioning Rihanna, because she has a pronounced one, too.

Deep-set, down-turned hazel eyes.  They could be sad eyes, but when he smiles, you realize they're the kind of eyes that smile more than the actual smile of his lips.  They're framed by ample eyelashes some women would envy.

A small bump on the bridge of his nose.  It happened when he was a kid and took a baseball to the face.  When we went to his hometown together for the first time and he pointed out a ball park, I asked, "Is that where you got your nose broken?"

Freckles sprinkled everywhere.  A small mole in the center of his neck right above his collarbone.

For maybe the third morning in a row, after returning from a too-long shower, I find him still in bed but awake and ask if he were waiting for me to get out of the bathroom.  We both laugh at the repetitiveness, the absurdity, the familiarity.