Your lips

Look like something I could float on

And when u laugh

That dimple winks at me

As if it knows I’m waiting for it

And if I’m close enough

I can hear your heartbeat

A rhythmic melody

A Smooth and consistent lullaby.

And your hands

Textured and thoughtful

Creeping up my thigh

Just enough to get warm.

I let them stay there long enough

And then I push them to their destination.

So you can explore me in detail

And turn me into a poem.

A Table.

As if you weren’t beautiful enough

You brought history into our home

And as I watch you hammer and nail

I think about the men before you

How they never wanted to build with me

But you build for me

With us in mind

And this table could very well be oak

And last until we are only known through pictures with wooden frames

And this table will be as strong as our family tree

It will spark a never ending

Forever changing story of how great great grandpa cut down this wood with his bare hands

The same hands that picked it up from the store

But that can be our secret

Like the extra late night snacks you’ll have on this table

And the mythical version of you will spread like fire

A monolith for a husband.

Can you imagine it?