I’ll wake up to your
dead bunny breath
allergic to sunrise eyes
pillow plowed hair
and say darling—
because I know
you hate that word—
did you know it’s true
that I still love you?

You’ll turn to me and say,
you just rhymed true and you
using the word love
in between, and I’ll say
that’s true, but only
because I love you.

I’ll spend the morning
finding more words
to play with, because
I’ll never get sick of the way
your head and shoulders sway
dancing your happy dance.
You’ll turn to me and say,
you’re using repetition
like those sad jazzy blues,
and I’ll say that’s true,
but only because I love you.

By midday your eyes will have rolled
right out of their sockets, because
I made up the word sockettes
to make fun of your
size five feet. You’ll say
I love your words,
and I’ll say you love me—
the words just come for free.

By this time
we’ve agitated our ears
into the afternoon.  They look over
to our cheeks and eyes, and down to our lips
and complain: for the love of god
contain yourselves, but we only laugh harder
by this time
you, even before me.

We’ll keep on smiling—
ignoring our faces—
using phrases like
long into the night,
then lay down to
tasty tic-tac flavored tongues
waning crescent moon eyes
and pink frosting flavored hair

and just before drifting off
we’ll say,
did you know it’s true—
despite the day—
that I still love you?