I often wonder,
      how
            your hair smells,
            your skin against mine,
            your head resting on my rising chest,
            your heart beating with mine,
                  in the morning next to me.
Would you smile?
Would you make eye contact?
Would you kiss me?
Would you be there?
      When I’d wake up next to you.
Would
            We be tangled up,
                  on your bed (or mine),
                        together like one.
            When we’d get up,
                  I’d make us breakfast
                        or lunch.
            You’d stand behind me,
                  afraid I’d burn it,
                        with your arms around me.
            I would concentrate on cooking,
                  but you’d try so hard to distract me
                        when I’d turn away from the stove.
Maybe.
We wouldn’t.
Because.
I’d wonder.
I’d dream.