a thousand times a day

"oh,"
she says, studying the lines of
our fingers interlocked,
the patterns my thumb traces
on her knuckles.
"oh,"
like she’s seeing it for the first time,
like she’s just realizing
she is the place
my hands love best-
nevermind what i say, i’ll tell you my mouth doesn’t know any better.
just watch my hands- they will always find a way to touch her.

"oh,"
curling her body around mine
like she forgot, for a minute, that i’ll
be here in the morning,
watching the sun rise
silmultaneous with the rise and fall of her breath
because sleep is too far, too fast.

oh, i guess this is no luv poem,
it’s a little more than that-
it’s the way her hand looks
resting on my thigh, the
way my breath
still quickens
when her lips graze my neck
or fingertips
or anywhere.
it’s the way that
i lose language
when she asks, "animal, vegetable, or mineral?"
and all i can think is, iwantyouiwantyouiwantyouyouyou
or,
i carry you around in my back pocket because i’m afraid to put you down, did i ever tell you that?

so i guess it’s animal, honey
the way i think of you
in the mornings, light grey and lovely
or in the evenings, the heat is hanging in the air and
i’m not quite prowling but
there’s a rhythm i’m walking to
and every time my feet touch the ground i think
iwishyouwerehere.