Stars dissolve soundlessly, dark ink draining til plum-tinged sky is still. Slip under silk sheets warm tea in one palm. Sweet cinnamon and cream call with fragrant haze pad down, creeping barefooted and cat-like for even birds are silent. Cocooned in warm covers, though icy fingers reach, they are deterred by our warmth. Savor every still second, before honking cars, raised voices, and deadlines reign again, for we rule this smaller realm. Morning has begun.