Tickling sensation. It wakes me, draws me up and out of bed. My bedroom window is open. Cool air spills in like heavy syrup. It is fall. ‘Bout time baby, I say to myself as wobbled in my morningness, toward the kitchen for coffee.

The coffee cannot compete with air. I shove in gulps of autumn air, make imaginary plans, plans to reconnect with old boyfriends, one by one and revisit those first fluttery moments of hardnosed, deep, muscular, sweat sex.

And so the softness of waking is now replaced by coffee breath and horniness.

My perfect autumn awaits.