Calmly, I notice your
eyes contemplating my
still form on our make-
shift bed of knowing.
You hold my fingers
and exhale to morning.
Holding on with no hands
brought me to you,
the first person to
tell me what my
face looks like.
I take comfort in
your lack of plans,
in the way you
laugh when I laugh,
while listening to our
rising breathe.
I‘m not sure if I can
give you anything at all
but twenty one bags of regret,
messy hair and red paint
all over my restless hands.
And yet, you take it
and eat it gratefully
like you’re eating
perfectly peeled oranges
in the company of someone
who actually knows the color
of your thoughts.
I tell you that I love you,
and those words hold more
water than what was between
us once, those oceans of fog
and miles of years.
And foolishly all I think of
is the water that my first born
will swim in, afraid to mention
that in my dreams, she’s yours too.
