the days of the week have become much more relevant
when every day is the day i'm wishing to spend with you
curled up in the warmth of my honeysuckle bedsheets
our knees to our chests and our eyes on eachother's lips
my wandering hands and your tendency to press against
and our eternal desire to speak in silent streams.
we kept quiet for a while, struck by the daybreak sunlight
and the way steam slowly rose from a foreign mug.
until your starved hands felt for my collarbones
and your teeth were no longer shy to mine
and your straightening spine carried me to refuge.
you were not any particular way but passionate
and your subtle voice carried me to your rescue
and the most satisfying thing I have ever seen
is the incredulous look on your face and
your slack jaw and messy hand-ruffed hair
eyes wide with the face of spent thrills