it’s fine if we’re fifteen,
and me talking at some other
girl
makes you jealous.
but suddenly we’re
twenty-five
(or god-forbid thirty)
and it’s weird
that i still love
watching you sleep?
why should time dull
all the things that fire up
in our brains?
why should the synapses
which fire off every time
our nerves sense a familiar stimulus like affection (or attraction) when it’s been proven that organisms can retain memories, stored in their dna from millions and millions of…
but i know how
much you hate
when i spit up
flux information science
so i’ll stick to making
words dance.
how long has it been since
that awful first night we met
on that beach
at that bonfire?
when we were so drunk
when we kissed so hard
that those grains of sand
that crept into our mouths
got compacted by our
tongues and our
teeth all night so
that when we woke up that
next morning
we were spitting out pearls for hours
(and i first found out how great
it is to watch you sleep
for hours)
but just so you know
that night we met i started
doing something
i still do
every
night
i sleep next to you:
i get a jar and
fill it
with those quiet
hours
hours
hours
hours and
hours
where it’s just
me and you
(and nothing else)
and put it under
my bed
or in the closet
or in a box in the
garage
(i’m running out of
space
but i don’t mind)
and i go back
sometimes
in the middle of the night
(when you’re at home)
or when i’m
waiting for you
to get out of work
or we have a fight about me talking at some
other
girl
and i
open
them
up.
and just by smelling them i can remember
how your sheets smelled
or what you had for dinner
or what shampoo
you used
or what was playing
on the radio while we
slept
where your hands
were placed
by your face
across your
bare belly
and how i woke up
(like i wake up most
nights i’m with you)
with my face hurting from smiling so much.
so just remember
this
next time you
wonder
whether
we’re
going to make it
or
not.