Come over.
Have a glass of peach apple wine
and tell me what it's like to live with her and think of me.

When she ***** you and your hands are in her fake red hair,
tell me how you close your eyes and think of running your hands through mine.
How my honest green eyes flash in your mind
and make you hope.

Read me the poem you wrote me
while she sat on the couch next to you
playing with the cats you named together.

Tell me how I've given you confidence,
how my soul reflects in your writing
because I showed it to you.
Come over and be mine for the afternoon.