Endless Spring

The motions of my day, were lost when you rang.
I don't remember coming home.
How did I get home?
I don't remember what I ate.
Did I eat?
I don't remember putting a bow in my hair,
but it's there.
What was I doing?

I slide my hands up, tracing my collar bones
I slide them behind my neck, I unlock
the sparkling string of pearls
that hang around my neck, usually.
Your voice isn't gentle.
It is, when you are romantic.
But your voice isn't gentle.
It's stupid, and lovely.
I fall into the lavender sheets, breathing softly
a sigh.
I remember our endless spring.

You have pale thighs, pathetic in the sun.
Waist deep in the crisp, cool stream, I call for you.
You're bold and undaunted, but now you are not.
You are weeping and whining. Patiently,
I splash around,
I pull the water up my arms,
it tickles. It trickles. It rolls off my skin like beads of tears.
They are tears of joy, tears of sorrow,
tears of the possibility of you fulfilling someone
else's life. Tears that are ours.
I spin around and see the velvet green. The water is warming.
The summer is coming.
The brush is quiet, it is silent, much like that
of a quiet, winter night in a modest cul-de-sac.
Silent like a sleeping baby.
The river giggles at you, as do I.
You are my watchman, you are my doll.
You are my jester, I... I need you on repeat this time.

I am asleep.