You arrived home in the morning and saw me on the sofa. Fast asleep and stripped of defenses (and a few pieces of clothing). You stood there for a long time, registering in your memory a kind of beauty that no photo can capture. Your eyes traveled over every detail: my skin illuminated by the light, the way my hair fell messily over my face, and the subtle curve of my hip. My lips, those which you love to touch with your fingers. Everything there, available. You decided: you didn't just want to observe me; you wanted me to feel that you were there, devouring every detail of this scene I had unknowingly created. You whispered in my ear, "You have no idea how much danger you're in sleeping like this..."