There's a mixed state, between asleep and awake, in which things can be a little of both. The eyes are too heavy to be kept open, but are too light to shut close. It doesn't matter. Everything is fuzzy, and there's no need to choose one of the states. I always enjoyed this modorra, to which is given an almost magical quality by some peoples.
Afternoons should have been made for love, that is my opinion. After a pleasant lunch, with wine, of course, and a delicious dessert that leaves a sweet, light flavor in your mouth, that lasts even after the liquor or coffee. Then, the siesta, which should be enforced by law. You'd just lie down with your girl, the weather is fresh enough to cuddle and sleep, with the smell of her hair filling your nostrils, the silk hair caressing your face, and the taste of her dessert that you can still taste, lingering on her tongue. Then, at some point, one of the two wakes up--not fully, but just crossing the line and becoming more awake than asleep, and the quiet, slow games of love begin, while the drowsiness and the wine act like Indian spices, bringing exquisite flavors to the food. The bodies are pleasantly warm, the bedroom is dark enough to be comfortable to sleep, but golden with the filtered light of the afternoon sun. Everything is smooth, lovely, quiet, and sometimes the dreams hit for a second or two and make us loose track of what is real and what is not. There is no pain, there are no worries, there is nothing but the moment. Once both are pleasured, you fall again to the other side of the line, napping at each other's arms. At some point you wake up, because there is the rest of the afternoon to waste in an office, fully clothed and filling useless reports, in meetings, but all that exists only to divide the afternoon and the evening, with a great dinner, maybe a movie or a show, and a rested, good and strong fuck.