january.

in bed you are the chocolate flourless torte from your dessert menu
we blend the way wet sugar dissolves, forming something newer
the sweet crunchy crumbs at the bottom of your tea
in bed it's all delicious, the skin and sweat 
are small papered notes that say i adore you over and over 
that you stick to your window till they form my name in every language.
i hope this a long drive with your favorite record loud, 
i hope it's a fresh grapefruit, your river, whatever you want.
i hope you're middle aged and only just learning what a love letter really is,
what they really, really could be.
in bed, sometimes if i'm lucky i get a glimpse of your face but all i see is light,
sometimes if i'm lucky your hands on my cheek 
and warmth becomes something like water you close your eyes to feel

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