on the day after i read you you a love letter (out loud)
i stayed in bed, thinking.
i stared at the ceiling,
trying to make sense of what i was feeling
and why i was blushing
and where i was going from here.
what i’ve come up with is confusing,
like all the rest of it.
what i’ve come up with is this:
you feel like novocain, making my body clumsy and numb,
forcing my gaze inward,
to the goings-on beneath my skin, the way water
runs from my tongue to my fingertips.
my heart pumps blood in and out,
my nerves shoot signals through my appendages,
always sending a shiver when you lie down next to me.
there is no equation for us, no e equals mc squared to
pair with the place we hold, and
somehow that makes this all so much more
i am curled up in this softness, this sleepiness,
just where we are.
just where we are, which is good enough
and far enough
and just enough
on the day after i read you a love letter (out loud)
i came up with this:
where we are is just enough.