She untangles herself from the bedsheets, throws her legs over the edge of the bed and runs her fingers through her hair. Taking a deep breath, she inhales his scent. How do you describe the way the love of your life smells? A clang from the kitchen tells her he's cooking breakfast or at the very least making coffee. Making her way down the hall, she notes the smells of vanilla hazelnut. “Coffee” she says to no one in particular, and smiles. She leans against the kitchen doorway and waits.

    He takes her favorite mug and pours it almost full of the vanilla hazelnut coffee, adding creamer and sweetener. As he reaches for a spoon to stir the concoction, he notices her. She takes his breath away; beautiful, like a sunrise mirroring off smooth waters.  He walks over to her and places the mug in her hand, kissing her as he does. 

    She kisses him back, his lips tasting like black coffee as they envelope hers. Placing the mug on the counter next to her she reaches up to touch his face. The morning stubble is harsh, yet comforting, as her hands explore every inch of his handsome face. There’s laugh lines, a mole on his right cheek, crow’s feet at the corner’s of his eyes and a deep crevice between his eyebrows. She knows this face. She loves this face. 

    Her hands travel down his shoulders and his arms to find his hands. She takes them in hers and brings them to her lips, kissing each palm, she whispers “Good morning”. In response he kisses the top of her head. This has been their morning ritual for the past four decades. 

    Showering together, she admires his body and all its unique traits: the curve of the spare tire around his mid section; the super hairy chest; the aging skin on his arms. He drinks her in with his eyes, as the water cascades through her hair, down her back and over her abundant posterior. Oh how he loves her butt. Yes, time and gravity have affected it, but that is only evidence of the time they have spent together. 

    Since they’ve retired, everyday is filled with adventures of pleasure, even marketing. He gathers his fedora and spring jacket, while she dons sunglasses and a wrap. She grabs the grocery bags, he grabs the keys. Her hand tucked inside his folded arm, they make their way to the elevator.

    Getting off in the lobby, the doorman greets them. 

    “Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Wolfe. It’s a perfect Spring day!”, he says. 

    “Good morning, Max”, she says, while her husband responds in American Sign Language, “Yes, a perfect day, Max.”

    As they walk arm in arm, Max thinks they same thought he’s had since they moved in years ago. In the decades they’ve loved, she’s never seen the color of her husband's eyes and he’s never heard the sound of his wife’s voice.