My lungs never fill enough
with the thick, sweet
smell of your beard.
I welcome snuffs, sneezes
after the tickle of your
too long moustache
under my nose
when you kiss me
goodnight.
In a few hours,
you'll creep into
our warm bed
and your hot legs
will sneakily find
their way to startle
my cold ones.
We'll dream of each other
in our imperfect sleeps
waking, knowing that
even our dreams
aren't as good as
our reality.
I miss you
when we're apart
even if you're
only at work
for the evening
while I pat
around our farm house
in bare feet
making your sweet tea
revering the swell
in my body
that is your child.
Your hummingbird eyes-
perfect sage green,
my favorite color-
are the only ones
I never shy from,
can make contact with
not feeling exposed,
naked, vulnerable,
ugly, but instead
happy, content,
sometimes beautiful.
The grandest coop
to roost
is under your arm:
my head on your chest
and your heartbeat
reverberating in my ears.
Love isn't the right word
for any of this, but
no such word or
combination of words
ever did or will exist.