What you're to me

Last night. 
Today early morning.
She dreamed me, she said.
A single-room cottage. 
Drizzle outside. 

Under the corner French window, we:
Kiss like there's no tomorrow. 
Kiss like it's an antidote to our poison.

Sharper nails dig in.
Multiple moans. 
Few sighs.
Deep breaths. 
Deeper eyes. 
Longer strokes. 
Delayed orgasms. 

And then, she asks me, 
What are you to me?
I answer, what you're to me.

Then, it rained again. 
Cats (less) and dogs (more).