The smell of your skin
is too familiar
It’s almost like we’ve
gone back in time
To the days when I could
caress my favorite features
of yours—your hands—
without a second thought
but I’m wondering if
this is too much, if I’m
crossing a line, or
if I’m zig-zagging streams
on the bar graph of time
and a calamitous end
will meet all entangled
Your strengthening grip
on my hip assures me though,
that nothing outside of this
firm mattress covered by
sky blue sheets with bleach stained clouds
matters—at all—so let’s lay here
for ten hours straight
and bask in the warmth
of each other’s glowing souls,
reconnected at last,
with old questions drowning
in the abyss of the unknown
because why would I ruin a
moment so perfect as this?