B.

your face
your eager smile
wisps of unruly hair that insist on 
slipping from behind your ear
you self consciously tuck them back
silently reprimanding
i brush your hand away
leave them I say
nothing looks out of place


mutual understanding
dancers in the kitchen
you watch my hands cut carrots
you watch my hands
stained the color of bleeding beets
you watch my hands 
peel the flaky layers of onion
its thin, crackling shell sticking to my fingers
you watch my hands slice cucumber
it’s my hands
you watch




sip wine from lavender cups
we sit across from a round table
we sit cross legged on the carpet
we eat leafy salad
we slurp french soup
we laugh but also there is quiet
not silence
quiet
comfortable quiet


there are moments i hold onto that could have 
m o v e d mountains
intense certainty met with bold confessions 
met with tears of scared joy
...and mountains m o v e d
a narrative we only partially understood
but we believed even so


i applaud the innocence of the unknown
when we had no reason to believe anything other 
than exactly what we  w a n t e d
i envy that short period of time 
when there is only good
seldom does it last long
i hope next time i remember 
that I’ll miss it some day