I’ve been thinking about you,
your lips, your neck, your voice,
your beautiful, wonderful little body!,
how much I want to sit in bed with you, kiss you…
read with you. Read to you.
Listen to you read to me.
Sit across a table from you.
Share you with the world.
Eat you out…
create (not make) love, force it into existence
through the friction of our bodies
moving against each other under the covers…
thinking about Oregon, thinking about traveling,
thinking about Rumi,
and my poetry, and how much I love your writing and your art,
and how we should start a band,
and all the songs I’d want to sing with you,
and all the tattoos I want to get, and the names of our children…
and I know love is a transient and fickle thing
but I feel the strength of you
pounding out a rhythm beneath the pounding of my heart
and in the luminescent bodies of the words I never have to say when you’re near
and the thoughts I think
that I know you think too…
I want to rub my feet against yours in the waters of all the oceans in the world.
Come back to me.
We can go to the beach.
We can plan a trip to Europe.
We can go to Italy, to Greece, to Spain (for you),
to Austria, to France, to England (for me),
to Egypt (for us both).
We can go anywhere
and be everything and nothing and be each other
and live in each other’s pockets
and blow the candles out and in the dark pretend we don’t exist at all.
We can go. We can not. We can.
Whatever it is — we can.
Love love love
love love love love,