i want a promise of sunlight before i leave i never wanted something so much as a picnic with any of you and why is it the mussels i carry in the crook of my arm, we keep in plastic bins with rice and spice not enough for you
the years we sat together on a park bench eating: watching the clouds flash against the sky in colours of pigeons and the taste of the way the one follows the other
and breathe against me please write your newspaper and coffee against the curls of my toes that stretch into our bedsheets
how easy it would be in my mind with toast and butter and alarm clocks toning into morning light and your arm never leaving the back of the hairs on my tilting side
not so much leaning you understood; but an intention towards making shapes of what you'd expect, in your head, when it changed
just enough for the force of you to taste the blossoms blooming the corner of my lips:
that you'd never have found; had i stayed; straight on
who'd ever have thought, there was never a problem except of that of admitting how much one was so loved by the other?