Smooth softness. The color of beige, nude, peach. Bare sheets on skin, gazing out a hotel window into puffy white clouds and azure sky. There is a beach below the balcony. There is a crack in the curtain where the light gets in. I am wide awake, but tempted by this bed and these sheets, cradling me in their comfort. The air is quiet and still. There are arbitrary pictures along the walls of this room we have paid for for the week. Each one shows a plant or vines, ivy. There is something seemingly, subtly sexual about each one. The colors are mellow and subdued, behind a white backdrop. Dull watercolors or pencils. I shift in bed and cannot commit to opening the curtain the entire way. There are boats in a harbor, not far away. We could take a ride on the water. I can wear a straw hat and sunglasses and smile as the breeze blows my hair back. I can sip white wine or champagne and pretend I'm in a music video. I can watch the sunset in dramatic fashion as we prepare to dock. There is an underbelly orchestra pit playing strings.