There was a period when I did not care for or notice the trappings of time. The concept meant little to me as I was unaffected by its passing beyond a typical awareness of when to work and when to sleep. The sun was often the central part of the cycle that kept my mind on track. Knowing and understanding the intricacies of time from a new perspective is something I have come to appreciate.

This fleeting bandit of hours that occasionally gives me glimpses into the life of a woman across the globe has given me a new respect for the old man who wields the hourglass. He is not cruel or kind. His task is to ensure that the passage of his precious commodity remains constant. Always and unceasingly consistent.

I can steal away moments and share them with her through the sand. Moments that bring me joy. Though fleeting and often through bleary, tired eyes on her continent or mine, our smiles are always eager for each other. We have come to know one another through words. A powerful medium that is the distillation of true attraction.

Owing nothing to one another, we continue to stand watch on the world as the other takes rest. My night is her day, and my slumber is her sun—the simplicity of the cycle, our limitations, my muse. The intimacy is fully apparent all the while we wait.

Passion and pauses with intrigue unanswered. Each new day is a delightful challenge and an exercise in trust. The faith that throughout her day, my visage appears as certainly as hers shines in mine. The old man allows us moments each day to continue to grow and laugh.

Though the sands that we steal are precious grains, held tightly for moments and then turned back to the winds for others like us who long for their friends. For time belongs to no man, and no man belongs to time. It passes like a river running unseen and unheard but marked constantly by all.

We cling tightly to these precious moments on the rare chance that we meet in the waning hours of my sleep as she lies down to rest. Pure and bare in this realm of dreams and borrowed time. The embrace of our souls is tender and urgent. Her soft skin beneath my touch fuels the ether. Her breasts warm against my sturdy chest.

This woman who I long for in my waking hours I now hold in this dream. We stand together in a circle of light. Her body is illuminated by the energy we share. A kiss as we inhale each other. Our bodies are entwined in this passionate dance. Bathed in light, we lie in the sands as the hourglass allows.

Her silken secrets probed by my lust. Relinquishing control of the moment, she writhes atop my body. Her movements are hypnotic as her hips undulate against mine. Her breasts graze my chest as she leans in to kiss me. Her tongue teases my lip, and her teeth discipline my wanton aggression in our oral embrace.

As I worship at the temple of her celestial flesh, my body surrenders.

Her ministrations tend to my spirit and flesh as we near the pinnacle of our stolen moment; our borrowed bodies contract in unison. Her exquisite grip on me brings us both over the edge. Our lips meet their last as our bodies collapse into one. Gasping, my ecstasy turns to desperation again.

The circle closes, and she dissolves into mist. My own figure is unrecognizable as the old man shifts the glass. Our efforts prevail, and as she drifts deeper into her slumber, I awake, longing for her touch once more.

This affectation is my testament to this truth.

As the world lies resting, know, friends, that it was we who stole these moments as you lay dreaming.