Pack it up, fold it off, ship it away
To the farthest corner of your mind and lie
To yourself that it will never open
Until just the day you want it to stay.
Resting, breathing, sweating on your
Chest where moist drops barely dry stick like tar
That binds skin to skin, superficial at first
Date which feels like lifetimes ago, but for
Now sets in deeper than is pragmatic.
The "right" decision rooted in logic -
Our attempt to pry apart our layers one
From the other, to disengage the magic
Butterflies that flutter from my belly
To my lips in the form of words that fly
Too fast for me to catch and suppress
Until the next approved moving day.