We sit under patio lights of a rocky parking lot bar where they eat piles of juicy red crawfish and the grease from the food here runs down my smile toward my chin where you will inevitably wipe it with your napkin, or lick it, with that grin, hiding under your dark mustache.
You will rock back and forth on the bench and smile wide and your eyes will twinkle and we may order some well-whiskey shots or tequila if we are feeling like the night wants to stretch her legs. We will talk circles of the things we care about and about stories we have not lived together and about all of the stories that we want to tuck into this book.
We will drive slowly through the historic parts of town and you will say you wish they didn’t change, and the white oaks will lean over the streets to bow in the easy way of all things here.
I will want to sit in the sun in any way possible and you will oblige and maybe feel tinge of annoyance. We will go for short burst of runs to the bridge and I will ache and huff and then be lighter
our hearts will hurt and question and go to dark corners at times but we will know that they are flooded with ripples of light
I am learning about realistic expectations and we talk about matters of importance like where will we go and what will we do and how can we be better
and all I can think about is the embroidery patch that I have not begun for you yet, and of the Steal Your Face black flag pin and where it was lost…and of the countless sighs that fill my happy heavy lungs.
