Staring At Ashes

The morning I woke in your arms, I asked you to close the curtains round the bed of our bliss - and you did. The next day I tore off the covers trying to give you your comeuppance to push past perceived reluctance what a petulant, brash, fussy fit. Now shivering and stripped and cold, I wonder will we ever nestle again under the blanket of love, like that Sunday of old.