I love when he threads
the tips of his fingers
in mine, drops his head,
leans into me, draped
over my shoulders

I love when his feet
lay on mine, hidden
under the table, yet
emitting energy in motion

I love when his lips
press shut, pursed to
hit, and fall on
my collarbones, finally
shocking the air from
my lungs

I love when my pen
scrawls over the page,
leaving the trails of
ink behind, depicting
                               us