constructing our time became paradoxical
planning the utterly simple & natural the effort
was chaotic, the outcome whimsical & light, process alluvial.
an initial step might be kissing before ever speaking?
so silly & also so right, my hand grips behind your neck
not at all designed to keep you, but a way of checking
on solidity, prodding reality, pinching myself. like
the mattress of soft grass everything will flow in an ad hoc
fashion but with gravity, the temperate breeze kinda
imperceptible but enough to note it down (wrote:
imperceptible breeze is so imperceptible).
other reference points belong to future theory:
getting caught in the rain then having to surrender
to a towel of incredible fluffiness, world famous fluffiness;
to swoon & give over all will-power to three pale ales;
to develop a perfect pasta & a sauce so delicately
articulating ‘creamy’. then whatever. all dusky feels
are like a process of loose-end-tying, our time
so planned & scheduled that thought ceases to matter.
the merlot next to the bed is scarlet & pretty &
we’ll reveal more of our separate pre-histories via
the songs & the macbook, the tinny waves sonically
appropriate for this day. then just being wrapped up
in each other. nothing more. nothing complex.
trying to avoid sleep entirely with soft talking
& removing stray locks of hair from your cheek.
failing & falling again maybe, but again
waking with no plans. tomato leaf smells
from the window garden & again
no place else to be for a day.