A Love Poem that Falls Apart at the End

Golden trees and melodies sung by birds I don’t know the names of. We lay out here in the shade, in the breeze, and imagine we might never have to leave. Whenever there was sun in the sky and shades of spring, wherever there were clandestine symphonies and hidden uncertainties under elm trees, here we are: everywhere we can breathe and eat and sleep together. Here we are.

Away from the typical foundations of romance, we ease into the song and dance of love at first glance and we laugh in all the right places; blushes appear on all the right faces. We’ve learned names well enough to whisper them in the dark and brushed lips on the way up so we can do it in public spaces. And here we are, kissing in front of people we don’t know without worrying over consequences. Here we are.

In both lights on and lights off, we’ve found a hearth to lay our heads. Next to me, you sing in your sleep while light reflects off window panes and I find more poetry in my brain, behind negligence and the insistence that love won’t find a way. Here we are under covers that hide our doubts and a wonder that would ease my anxieties. Here we are.

In each caress and every morning after, we find more peace in each other, in bad breath and in laughter. Here are the plastic blinds and the turned down comforter of my home, the light refraction and the rhythmic banter. And here we are, served prayers on a silver platter, caught unawares by lovely subject matter, breathing dreams beneath the hereafter. Here we are.

Maybe.

But here we are.

Stay gold,
Sabrina