400 Times A Day.
A poem about easy love when everyone says it's work.
Our love leaves me With a belly ache and watery eyes. I’m a 4-year-old, laughing 400 times a day now. My silliness and sorrow are mended In the mirror of you Every straggling part, Sewn together.
Love isn't a scouring pad for dirty pans, It's soft and decadent, A slice of vanilla bean cake warm from the oven, Even the crumbs shout, "Delicious!" Could love be this easy? With you it's not homework. But an indecent hobby, an inner healing, All soul and raw passion, Profit and pension be damned. Let's fly to Provence tomorrow! Here we are. Books blocking the sun's rays, Lying on the beach, our legs Hooked at the ankles. The most natural thing and the most surreal. You roll over, your breath like the ocean breeze, "Surprise!" you whisper in my ear. How can this be? You hold my face and salty kisses ensue, Your lips taste like longing, I don't think I'll recover. An eternal endorphin high, We run toward radiance, life and leave Sweaty trails in the sand. This doesn't feel like work. Restful flow and expansive quiet. My whole body arches into a smile at the sight of you, The sky above us, an afterglow of cotton candy pinks And the ground beneath a field of lavender. Fairytale? Maybe. But what if we decide To make our love Into a masterpiece of a story?