just so.

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

terrifying, and

comfortable, and


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.