My lover asks me:
"What is the difference between me and the sky?"
The difference, my love,
Is that when you laugh,
I forget about the sky.

His name was meant
for someone three times his age.
Someone who reaches into
the pocket of his sweater
for little hard candies,
amidst games of shuffleboard
and canasta.

I would have never pegged him
for a Walter or a Leonard.
(Wait, was it Larry?)

But then again,
the way he
sweet talked me into
his bed that night,
I would've never expected to
wake up alone
the next morning.

A post-it note balancing delicately
on the indentations of his pillow;
*Had to go to work. Nice meeting you, doll.

I'll *******,
If you want.
Cause I want it
Just as bad as you do.
But I also want to hear the rustle of the sheets
When you turn over in the middle of the night.
I want to feel your hot breath on my neck.
I want the stubble on your chin to graze my cheek
As you kiss me gently on the forehead.
And when I whisper "goodnight," you don't have to reply.
Just nudge me with your knee
Or poke me with your elbow.