Love is the pleasant surprise of where you will arrive each day

photo by J Mcspooran

You ask me to make the bed

& unsure into what, I take the mountains of blankets of sheets, we skinned like a fish to meet the day, and shape them into a castle. Thick at the foundation, it rises into spires - where I poke faux windows to wave from - balance balconies on all sides, flip a corner into a drawbridge across the moat and down a small hillock to the lake edge. Here on the shore of us, I collect shells. Put them to my ear, and sway in the sounds of our surf. In and out it pulls. The ridges where your ribs lay are waves. I canoe through their crests, to the far shore, climb the mound of your pillow to the hilltop and lay back - surveying the kingdom. I did not make this - for what can we truly make, more than let - yet humbly accept, here I find myself. I lay, letting the sun re-warm the place we shared, cast rainbows through the last of the rain, that end in my chest and drift into the warm scent of last night - and the dreams that danced. Barefoot in the grass.

Spring is the country 
where your border agents stamp
my passport page heart.


for dverse