I wonder if his
clothes will ever
be mixed in with mine.
In a basket fresh from
the dryer,
slowly gone through
and folded.
I can imagine
putting them away in
the dresser in his room,
and then hanging mine
in the closet.

I would take one of
his shirts out of the drawer
and put it on.
Go downstairs to
see him smile and
then kiss me while
he makes dinner.
In the house we live
in together.