myself in the silk sheets of it all, and I
dream in groups of household items.
Bouquets of silverware. Corsages of
bobby pins. Sprays of toothbrushes.
When you meet someone who can
make the everyday so unconventionally
pretty, you begin planning for a love that
takes up the entire bedroom.
For her, I will sleepwalk. I will sing
refrigerator songs, write kitchen sink
love notes. After all, she is the most
gorgeous feeling one can hold at her
chest. For her, I will paint every lump
in my throat her favorite color. Loving
this girl is the easiest fear I’ve ever
had, and I know one day my childhood home
will tumble to the ground. It won’t be able
to keep its eyes open forever.
Neither will we. But so long as I can lose
my fingers in the backyard creek of her
hair at night, I will be gracious to every
neighborhood. Maybe we will never go
back to the street where it all started, but
at least I can say I dreamt that it would