it was nothing short of rapturous –
you sound like the summer i met you,
and home, all at once.

it takes me two times longer to fall asleep,
when you’re not on the phone,
                              on my pillow,
                              next to me;
i count the seconds.

silk sheets,
you taste like lavender
                         milk  
                         tea;
sunrise licks at your cheek –
like it’s your namesake,
you’re drenched in laurel and leaves.

when you first told me you loved me,
the words dripped from the air,
and onto my skin bare –
i wanted to hear you say it again;
there is you or no one else.

pack me up a picnic basket,
leave my skin and soul unscathed.
feed you apples and honey –
sticky and sweet –
fickle, and my thoughts incomplete:
put your fingers on my neck,
lick the corners of my smile,
brush the blush from my cheek;
i call you mine,
you call me yours.

and the flower lady said,
"she's a spring."

with golden notes in my skin –
my overturned arm in her palm;

she said pastels were my thing.

if our fate lines do one day cross –
just a moment in anachronism –
i’ll feel whole in loving loss.