or maybe you're not even sure what's it's for anymore than me;
this morning, as i poured my bowl of cereal, i wanted to reach for the fruit loops and pour you a pot, since a normal sized bowl is never enough. i wanted to smell the artifical sweetness of the colored circles and add the skim milk i bought just for you. milk which will now sit, untouched, in my refridgerator until i decide to throw it out. i wanted you to be waiting on my futon, wrapped in a blanket, your eyes still adjusting to the morning light. i want yesterday morning the way i wanted friday night as i struggled to fall asleep without you radiating heat next to me.
there's half a pint of butter pecan ice cream in my freezer. it's silly to think these things will keep till the middle of february when i can take the newly navigated roads back to o'hare airport to pick you up. it's silly to expect most things to last a month, unremembered, untouched. yet we're forced to do just that. over&over&over again. and we can.
i can because i can't not. loving you is no longer a decision; it's a reflex, visceral, honest. it's in the way i'll wake from a half sleep to count the points of contact between us. our legs crossing, your toes grazing my calf, your arm around my waist, the other touching my face, my left arm across your back, my right against the mattress, underneath the curve of your torso, touching lightly enough that i forget to count it at first, and my face buried deep in your neck. it's in the calm i feel watching you, entertained by the earned predictability of your smallest habits and inadvertant expressions. it's in the way i take these months apart and resign myself to longing for our most ordinary moments, our accidental routines.
it's in the way i can never, ever, get enough.
there's half a pint of butter pecan ice cream in my freezer. it's silly to think these things will keep till the middle of february when i can take the newly navigated roads back to o'hare airport to pick you up. it's silly to expect most things to last a month, unremembered, untouched. yet we're forced to do just that. over&over&over again. and we can.
i can because i can't not. loving you is no longer a decision; it's a reflex, visceral, honest. it's in the way i'll wake from a half sleep to count the points of contact between us. our legs crossing, your toes grazing my calf, your arm around my waist, the other touching my face, my left arm across your back, my right against the mattress, underneath the curve of your torso, touching lightly enough that i forget to count it at first, and my face buried deep in your neck. it's in the calm i feel watching you, entertained by the earned predictability of your smallest habits and inadvertant expressions. it's in the way i take these months apart and resign myself to longing for our most ordinary moments, our accidental routines.
it's in the way i can never, ever, get enough.