Sounds of a shower ringing against your back like skylights.

I whisper to myself in the silence, a long cotton smile and a breath.

Pillows wreaking of evergreen tides and the taste of your tongue.

Mancala eyes rolling, reminiscing the best parts of my childhood.

Curls caressing me like question marks. I want nothing more than this.

Happiness is holding a hand that never has been held before.

Neon light peaking behind my eyelids, strange faces flashing in the night.

Handed me a triple shot of gasoline in a room full of mirrors.

Homemade pasta and a heaping side of unnecessary apologies.

Stay a little longer. Let’s wake up next to the clouds on my carpet.

Taking care of myself and I’d let you take the wheel without a license.

Ask me if I’m okay again. Go wash your hands again.

Tomorrow is never a promise. Hopefully this lasts past Saturday night.