Rainy days and
Mondays, like
that song by
Karen Carpenter.

Waking up
from my
imagination,
and you
beside me
in a bed
of white
sheets like
marshmallow
clouds.

The sky is
grey to match
my comforter,
balled up on
the floor. Our
ankles touch.
Your
hand on my
stomach,
thumb resting
at the dip of
my waist.

There’s
construction
every day
at 8 a.m.
It seeps into
my psyche,
drills disrupting
contemplation.
I am trying to
forget that after
breakfast you’ll
be lost, as a
point
on a map,
no longer in
my presence. I
am restless,
and you,
are asleep.

Your skin
is tanned
from last
week in
St. Tropez,
lazing on
towels, reading
poems aloud to
each other.

Caught in the
light, a
glare in my
eye, it was
so hard to
see the lines
on the page.
But
closing my eyes,
I knew the words
by heart,
and the voice
that read them.

She asked
'You are in love.
What does love look like?’
To which I replied
‘Like everything I’ve ever lost
come back to me.'

We ate
pb&j sandwiches,
raspberry seeds
stuck to your teeth.
And I licked the
peanut butter off
of your nose. Our
lips together,
the taste still
lingers.

And the bed,
like the beach,
is soft. My
butt backed
into your hips
like the curve
of a croissant.
And the
yawn melts in
your mouth like
butter. The
morning brings
hot cups of
coffee. Your
breath warm
on the back of
my neck, makes
everything
silk.