What I know about love
would barely fill my coffee cup.
Just enough to enlighten a teenager
who wouldn’t like the taste.
A mere handful of total hours spent together
is usually plenty
seal the deal and become lovers
or regrets.
The hand I’ve been counting mine on
is finally full.
In America you’re my thumb,
but in Europe, the pinky.
Your name has so many letters
but only this one syllable.
My tongue doesn’t bother trying
to make sense of it.
Since I was a boy, I’ve rolled them
over inside my mouth.
What might one taste like
if it stayed, there, between two teeth?
How sweet, sour or bitter would it be to say,
“I love you ____.”
“I missed you ____.”
“____, are you ok?”
Twenty questions to guess one another’s tattoos, but we didn’t keep track.
Yours a secret hidden in plain sight.
Even ancient myths are unsure how many Pleiades sisters there really are.
A freckle mingles there pretending itself ink.
We broke some kind of record, you and I.
Asking each other if it was too soon
before we were completely sure
we wanted to.
We counted the months since our last.
You told me you might not get off
because it was our first time together.
I liked the implication,
the challenge.
It has been four days.
The text messages we’ve exchanged
land weightless.
Forever is a very long time.