You lay there, almost asleep,
like a precious stone,
your face lax and nestled
turned away from me, towards the doorway of some dream.
Your hair resting around you,
a strewn halo,
of luscious black.
I kiss the rounded mound of your cheek,
the left corner of your eyelid.
The warm, wet salt brings thought of still seas,
I try to hold these moments
warm sand sifting, landing in whispers.
I stand, leaning quietly on the door frame of our sun room,
in the house where we have been the most alone,
in the home we are slowly dismantling,
selecting what to bring with us to a new world.
In the home you have built in my chest,
where I am overwhelmed by your precious shape,
where I am overwhelmed by your lucent heart.
I am a child,
one eye covered, playing with my depth perception.
I see you tilt shifted, small and fine, (like your oval nailed finger tips).
I see you magnified and towering, enveloping me whole.
You don’t notice me,
you’re tiddying up your table, gathering leftover bits of faded thread.
This moment is perfect.
I silently straighten up.
I don’t call out to you with an affectionate joke,
or to say you’re beautiful,
or to whisper I love you.
It wouldn’t express how submerged I am in the ocean of you.
I walk to the kitchen and think of something else,
while I fill a glass,
before my heart swells up and bursts like a water balloon.