"Then to wake up to rain striking the glass.
Flowers in a vase near the window.
The smell of coffee, and you touching your hair
with a gesture like someone who has been gone for years....
Do me a favor this morning. Draw the curtain and come
back to bed.
...Forget the coffee. We'll pretend
we're in a foreign country, and in love."
I'm reminded of the Weepies song about how we look like two lovers in a painting by Chagall as well as my visit to the Zurich Cathedral with Chagall's stain glass work.
I'm also reminded of this poem I wrote a while back...when I was in an ocd kind of love.
I'm looking in the bed sheets for you.
Diving under the covers,
I read once more the symbols on your face and body.
- I breathe you in like old books. I bury my face in you.
My hand, sliding between the top and bottom pages of linen, isn't aimless.
The smooth fabric, the labyrinthine folds –
I feel the edges of you and turn the page.
Pull the yellow bed clothes over us, and
Our world is gold and full of shadows.
Lean in and whisper.
Let's build our tent of sheets again.
You hold that corner, and I'll hold mine.
We wedge the top sheet in the wall-headboard groove,
And we've made a shelter.
It falls down, and
I cover you with me.
And we are the sheets now,
Laying one on top of the other.
We are –
the words are all over our bodies –
the (choose your own adventure) story called