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.