You’re wearing my favorite shorts today,
the red ones with embarrassing paint stains.

They’re your favorite too, since
you’re in them at least four times a week.

A recurring event, like your tendency to stop
emotion for a brief second.

That was the time the radio played the same five songs
every hour.

We embraced on sheets that I did not buy,
that you did not buy.

Twirling our feet in semi-permanent
interior paint, light ocean breeze.

Through the grocery store, down aisles of food
we’ll never try, because spaghetti is just so **** good.