Her hand atop yours, and on the inside, you are burning now—
at daybreak no less, you could not part. You did not want to
sing another aubade, not when her soft brown eyes swallowed
you whole. You have been waiting for something
your whole life—is it permission?
You fix your gaze on her once more, it’s not permission
you seek, you intuitively understand one another, there’s
little need to verbalize the big stuff. You’ve always been in
tune for those things.
Is it her?
I mean yes, and no. You thought about buying a lottery ticket
after meeting her the first time. As predestined things feel with
her, you still consider yourself extremely lucky, you were meant
for her, she was meant for you—your union is a holy thing.
It’s this exact moment—intimacy with tenderness, being vulnerable to
the point of immolation, every syllable of every word she utters
leaves you volatile. The crazy thing is, you want every part of this,
you wanted to live life to the fullest extent, pouring passion
into all the little things, everything feels significant and new.
You can close your eyes now, and sleep anywhere,
you don’t have to worry about whether its safe or not,
you can utter her name like a spell, and she’ll
be there, like you’re there for her.
You love her, and she loves you.