Just you and I,
cutting up strawberries, pineapples, and blackberries
side by side in my mother’s kitchen,
cracking jokes as we mix the fruits together
in a big bowl.
Even the mundane tasks
are enticing with you.

I feel as if I am dying,
the final euphoric moments one
supposedly experiences right before
they pass on.
Perhaps that lingering smile on my lips
is a byproduct of that.

In the stillness of my basement, wrapped up tight
in my old comforter,
you and I lay entwined and content
with your fingers lightly grazing the bare skin
of my arm,
with my lips meeting yours in such a gentle
kiss.

Rain splatters against my windshield
as you and I chat about nothing in
particular, like we’ve been at this
for years.

If only my thoughts alone could
bring you to bed beside me,
so once dawn breaks,
I could groggily roll over and see you
sleeping soundly, your face lacking the careful
composure the day brings, rather the peace
that comes with dreaming abandon.